


Spin Me The Fuck Around

by postinghumorouslyposthumously



Series: Chillin' On a Building [4]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, College Student Peter, Dead Soldiers - Freeform, Fighting, Fluff, Gay Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Love, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Multi, Murder, OOC, Original Character(s), Original villain - Freeform, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter is Done With the Avengers' Shit, References to Suicide, References to self-harm, Self-Hatred, Semi-OOC to OOC, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Background Relationships, Wade Goes On an Adventure, avengers show up, depressed characters, depressed!Tony Stark, insecure!wade, love is chocolate cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-05-13 22:03:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postinghumorouslyposthumously/pseuds/postinghumorouslyposthumously
Summary: When dead things don't stay still, who ya gonna call? Literally anyone else.Because nothing functions the way it's supposed to, feelings get in the way, and sometimes things get bad a lot faster than you have time to be sad.That's it. That's the summary.---Takes place almost immediately after Part III.





	1. Mothercunt

**Author's Note:**

> Um, so, I posted this, then deleted it a day later because I was like “that literally sucks Trump balls, and also what is plot” so I deleted it, and made some changes, wrote a bit more, got my shit together and...here we go! 
> 
> As always, semi-unedited, because I am a fake ass bitch.

Peter drew patterns into Wade’s arm, settled against his chest. Peter felt Wade’s eyes on his face, but he himself didn’t look away from the movie.

“Can I help you?” Peter asked after a moment.

Wade shrugged slightly, and turned his eyes momentarily back to the movie. It didn’t take long, though, before Peter felt him staring again.

“Did someone draw a dick on my face without my knowledge?”

“Nah, it’s a vagina.”

“How do you draw a vagina?”    
“With a red sharpie.”

“Ah.”

“The fade of the red into the flesh color really just makes it look all the more realistic. Kudos to the artist.”

Peter turned his head to look at him.

“Wade,” Peter said. Wade batted his eyes at him. “What’s going on?”

Wade looked at him a moment longer, then clucked his tongue.

“...Why’d you say you loved me?”

“Because I love you.”

Honestly, Peter figured something like this was going to happen. Some sort of freak out to some extent. Hopefully, the fallout isn’t too bad.

Wade looked down, rubbing his thumb in small circles on Peter’s shoulder. Peter tapped Wade’s arm.

“You know I love you...right?” Peter asked after a moment.

Wade looked up after a second.

“Right,” Wade said.

Peter didn’t really believe him.

Peter turned further, pressing his legs which were astride Wade’s lap into his chest, and grabbing his shoulder.

“And that’s okay?” Peter asked.

Wade looked at him.

“Of course its…” Wade started, “I mean, I…”

Wade struggled.

“Did something change since two weeks ago?” Peter asked. Wade sighed.

“Of course not, baby,” he said. “...I just...I don’t know, do you really think that’s a...a good idea?”

“What does that even mean?” Peter asked.

Wade rubbed his hand up and down Peter’s calf, glancing around the room briefly.

“I don’t know, I just don’t want...I want to be...careful,” Wade finally said, eyes settling on Peter again.

“Do you think I’m going to leave you?”

Wade let his head drop back against the back of the couch dejectedly.

“I don’t fucking know anything, okay? Maybe? I don’t know,” he said. He had his arms wrapped around Peter though. Like if he let go, Peter really would leave.

“I do know, Wade,” Peter said. “Wade, look at me.”

Wade angled his head to look at Peter.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, brows furrowed.

Peter waited for a response. Not looking away from Wade’s eyes. Wade had nice eyes.

“I’m fucked, Peter, you know that,” he finally said. “You sure you want-”

“ _ Yes _ , Wade,” Peter interrupted, squeezing his shoulder. “I don’t know what else to say to make you believe me.”

Wade closed his eyes, and let his head fall further sideways to rest on Peter’s hand on his shoulder.

“I believe you, Petey.”

“Well, good,” Peter said. “Because I want you, Wade. I want you so fuckin’ bad. I’ve wanted you so fucking bad all this time. Why else would I be here?”

Wade didn’t open his eyes. Peter squeezed both his shoulders lightly.

“Why is that so hard to accept?”

Wade squeezed his eyes shut tighter, then opened them after a moment. Wade’s eyes moved from Peter’s, down to his throat. Wade took his other hand and trailed one finger around Peter’s adam’s apple.

“You know me, baby...I’m  _ me _ ,” Wade said, his eyes a bit dark.

Peter leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. Wade settled his hand on the nape of Peter’s neck and held him where he was, cheek to cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere, Wade, I told you,” Peter said.

Wade nodded.

“I know, that’s just...so fucking hard for me to believe, you know?” Wade asked, scratching Peter’s scalp lightly. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I don’t want this to get fucked up.”

Peter rested one of his hands on Wade’s jaw, and kissed the skin under his ear.

“It won’t, Wade. I won’t let that happen,” Peter said, and the pulled back to meet Wade’s eyes. “It’s not your fault. I understand.”

The corners of Wade’s mouth tugged up.

“You, Peter Parker, are too damn good for this world. Just a little, fluffy, cream filled butterfly.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Sure, babe.”

 

Peter struggled to stuff his binder back into his bag as he got on the bus. He bumped into a middle aged woman, who glared at him. He slunk away, and stood on the opposite end of the bus train car from her.

After Peter got all his shit in his bag together, he finally stood straight, and breathed. He pushed his hand through his hair. Today was one of those days. Peter wanted to collapse on the ground and spray whipped cream into his mouth from the can.

Balancing Spiderman, and college was truly the truest test of his superhero ability. That and the fact that he was a “cute nerd” who had someone crushing on him in almost every class. Jesus, that sounded arrogant. Whatever.

Point was, he no longer wanted to acknowledge the human race as a thing that existed. At least for the next four hours before he suited up and went patrolling. TGIF.

 

The apartment was suspiciously quiet as Peter walked in. He immediately dropped his bag at the door, and headed for the living room.

“Wade!?” Peter called, already zeroed in on the couch. He flopped down heavily with a groan. “I’m home!” Peter shouted.

He heard a crash from the bedroom. After a second, Wade throttled through the door, coughing loudly, beating his chest with his fist. Peter stared at him.

“What the hell?” He asked.

Wade looked up at him, and grinned. He waved once.

“Hey….baby boy!” Wade said with a nervous shuffle. “Thought you weren’t gonna be home ‘til six.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Professor got a concussion being chased by a dog up a flight of dorm stairs...is my coming home early a problem?”

Wade quickly through his arms out and waved his hands frantically,

“Nono _ no _ , ‘course not, spiderbabe! Just…” Wade turned sheepish, shifting from foot to foot, glancing out of the corners of his eyes from side to side.

“What is it, Wade?” Peter asked suspiciously.

Suddenly, the door buzzer buzzed. Peter narrowed his eyes. Wade ran to the door.

Peter couldn’t see the door from his position on the couch, but heard Wade shushing whoever it was viciously, take something from them, then slam the door. Wade went immediately into the kitchen.

Peter slowly got up from the couch, and proceeded towards the kitchen. He rounded the half wall that separated it from the living room, and saw Wade’s back, hunched over something on the counter.

“What are you-”

Wade waved a frosting covered hand wildly behind him.

“Get out! Get out! It’s not ready yet!”

Peter huffed, but humored him, stepping around the half wall, and pressing his back against it with his arms crossed.

After a moment, Peter heard a drawer open, then slam shut, Wade curse, the microwave door open, and finally a victory shout from Wade.

“ _ A-ha!” _

Peter took that as his que, and stepped around the wall again. Wade stood in front of the counter, hiding whatever was on it from view. He smiled smugly. Peter raised his eyebrows.

Wade side stepped to the right.

“Ta-da!” Wade exclaimed, using both hands to gesture towards the counter.

A bright red cake with rainbow sprinkles.

Peter stepped closer.

_ LOVE IS A CHOCOLATE CAKE _

In messy black frosting.

Peter laughed.

“Not my most clever, I know, but I thought the sentiment behind the-”

Wade was cut off when Peter jumped up into his arms without warning, wrapping his legs around Wade’s torso. Wade put a foot back to stabilize them, then responded to Peter’s mouth attacking his. Wade broke away from the kiss shortly,

“ _ mm _ -If I had known baking made you this hot Peter, I would’ve-”

Peter grabbed either side of Wade’s face, and kissed him again.

Wade laughed into the kiss.

Wade turned around, and set Peter down on the counter before trailing his hands up under Peter’s shirt. Wade moaned when Peter’s mouth moved down to his neck, kissing and sucking. Wade glanced over at the cake next to them, and dragged his finger across the frosting, ruining the word  _ “cake”.  _ He brought his finger up, and sucked the frosting off, moaning loudly.

“ _ Fuck,  _ Peter, you have to try this,” Wade said, dipping his finger back into the cake for more.

Peter lifted his head as Wade sucked more frosting from his finger, then Peter grabbed him again, and kissed him. He licked into his mouth, tasting the remnants of the sugary frosting on Wade’s mouth.

Wade smiled into the kiss, and held on to Peter’s waist with one hand, grabbing a fist full of cake with the other. He broke away from Peter, and held his fistfull of cake up between them instead. Peter laughed again, and made a show of licking some cake off of Wade’s knuckles. Wade made a high-pitched whine, and ate some of the cake out of his own hand as well.

“Kirsten Dunst, motherfucker!” Wade exclaimed. Peter kissed Wade again, and spoke against his mouth:

“ _ Let them eat cake.” _

 

Peter groaned, throwing his head back. Wade held on to his hips, and Peter only barely managed to hold on to his arms.

“Don’t be scared,” Wade grunted, thrusting forward a little harder.

“I’ve done this before,” Wade said, moving his hands up Peter’s back, pulling him closer. He then cradled Peter’s cheek-the  _ face  _ kind, you perverts-in his hand, and met Peter’s eyes.

“ _ Show me your teeth.” _

Peter groaned louder, and shoved Wade’s chest. Wade snickered, but his breath hitched when Peter clenched around him.

“ _ Fuck  _ me, Wade.”

Wade snickered, and yanked Peter closer. Peter moaned, throwing his arms around Wade’s shoulders-then did exactly as Wade asked in the first place. He bit down hard into Wade’s collarbone.

“Holy- _ fuck!”  _ Wade exclaimed, he bucked up into Peter. Peter gasped, but ultimately stopped moving, eyes wide.

“Are you okay?!” He asked, panicked.

“ _ Someone  _ wanted a bite of my bad girl meat,” Wade said, slightly out of breath. Peter smirked.

Wade flipped them over so that Peter was under him. All the air left left Peter’s lungs at the movement, and then it  _ really  _ left when Wade started moving again.

Planting his feet on the bed with his knees drawn up, Peter met Wade thrust for thrust.

“Oh,  _ fuck! Fuckfuckfuck,”  _ Wade exclaimed, leaning down to try to swallow Peter’s tongue to shut himself up, and reaching down to grab Peter’s dick at the same time.

Peter made a noise that quickly got drowned, his arms tensed around Wade’s shoulders.

**Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for!**

_ Jenny’s First Orgasm. _

**Who the fuck is Jenny?**

_ A strong independent woman who don’t need no man. _

**Well that was never in question.**

_ But admit it-you imagined Jenny getting fucked by a dick. A dick attached to a MAN! _

**I mean I don’t discriminate. Dicks can be attached to all kinds of things.**

“ _ Wade _ !” Peter exclaimed, and Wade snapped back to attention as Peter came all over their stomachs. Wade groaned, and came inside him.

“ _ Fuck.” _

 

After getting out of the shower, putting on some pants, and walking into the kitchen to make some cereal, Peter froze in the doorway.

Wade turned around to look at him from where he stood at the counter, spreading strawberry jelly over a poptart.

“What?” Wade asked, holding his pastry and knife loosely.

Peter narrowed his eyes, then looked over to the front door. He walked over to it, and Wade tensed, watching the door and Peter intently. Peter peeked through the peephole, then he frowned. He unlocked, and pulled open the door.

Wade tensed further, but completely stopped when it only revealed...Captain America and Black Widow?

Well, technically, Steve, and Natasha. Semantics.

“What are you two doing here?” Peter asked.

Steve was standing with his hands folded in front of him. Natasha just looked annoyed.

“Other then standing here for more than half an hour?” Natasha asked.

“Sure,” Peter answered, taking his hand away from the door to cross her arms.

Natasha looked past him to Wade, who was still holding the Pop Tart and jam-covered knife, before looking back to Peter.

“Here to talk,” Steve said.

Wade turned to the fridge,

“This oughta be good,” Wade said with a nod.

The fridge responded with a wary sort of look. Always was a squeemy sort of dickfucker, the fridge.

Wade much preferred the toaster.

 

Seeing Captain America and Black Widow sitting on their come-stained couch was the literal definition of  _ everything _ .

Now, if only Wade could find out  _ why  _ they were sitting on his come-stained couch.

_ SATURATED, more like. _

**That’s a good word. A fine ass word.**

_ You know who else has a fine ass? _

Wade glanced over at Peter.

**Bitch, don’t look at him, you don’t deserve him and these two motherfuckers on your couch know it.**

_ Everybody knows it, don’t state the fucking obvious, dickwad. _

Remember when your hateful banter wasn't literally the worst ever since E. L. James masturbated over a keyboard after reading Twilight?

**Remember when you got covered in an acidic alien slime that made your skin itch for three days?**

“So, why are you guys here? Is the sky falling again? Or has Jane Foster been kidnapped this time?” Peter asked.

“Thor’s not even planetside, Peter,” Steve said.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“We came to ask for your help,” Natasha said, staring directly into Peter’s eyes.

Peter stared back and forth between them for a moment.

“Is this going to take long? Or are we going to have to go through a whole shit ton of Gandalfian bullshit before I find out what’s actually going on?”

“Last week, four people went missing. Then turned up about five times stronger, and killed five people in a small SHIELD facility up north. They were being lead by someone who seemed to be controlling them. They stole something from the facility, and then disappeared. We’re short handed. We want your help,” Natasha stated.

Peter blinked, then nodded.

“We’ll fill you in on everything else when we get back to the Tower. Are you in?” Steve asked.

Peter glanced at Wade, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. Wade simply looked back at him. Peter turned back to the two superheroes in front of him.

“I’m in to hear the rest of what’s going on. Then I’ll decide if I want to help you or not,” Peter answered.

Natasha nodded once, and stood up.

“Let’s go then.”

Steve stood up as well, and Followed Natasha to the door.

Peter stood up, and turned to face Wade.

Wade smiled slightly up at him.

“My little baby...off to save the world,” Wade cooed, and stepped over to him. Peter raised his hands, and set them on Wade’s chest.

“It seems weird. This seems a little below Avengers pay grade,” Peter commented. Wade shrugged.

“‘Said that last time, too, baby boy,” Wade said, placing his hands on Peter’s lower back. “They only call you when it’s a special occasion.”

Peter half shrugged, and swept his thumb back and forth over Wade’s shirt.

“I’ll call you after I know more. Decide what I’m actually going to do,” he said.

Wade leaned down and kissed Peter shortly before pulling him into a hug.

“Be careful,” Wade murmured into Peter’s cheek, “Advengers never mean good news for any super who isn’t them.”

Peter shuddered.

“It’s not like I trust them anymore, Wade. I’ll be fine.”

Wade just half shrugged, and pulled away. Peter walked away towards the bedroom to get changed into his Spiderman suit.

Wade turned and looked at Steve and Natasha. Both of them were pointedly looking away. Wade waved excitedly at them, and then flopped down on the couch they had recently vacated.

 

Stark Tower was as ever. Peter hardly glanced around as he followed Steve and Natasha. They walked into a medium sized gym-like room, containing only Clint. Peter stopped.

“Where’s everybody else?” He asked.

Steve looked at him.

“This is everyone.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, though he knew no one could see through the mask.

“What about Tony? Bruce?”

“As of right now, we don’t need them,” Natasha responded.

Peter glanced around at the three of them strangely as Clint walked over from the punching bag he was working on. They were all...off. Peter didn’t need Spidey sense to tell him that.

“What the fuck’s going on?”

Steve’s expression stayed the same. A minute too long passed.

“Like we said,” Steve said. “This is probably no big deal. We can take care of it easily.”

The firmness in Steve’s voice made Peter roll his eyes, but drop it.

“Whatever guys, just don’t let whatever’s up your ass bite me in mine.”

 

Peter watched the video off the security camera from the SHIELD facility that was broken into with his mask pushed up to his forehead. He narrowed his eyes when a girl who couldn’t have been older than a teenager appeared on the screen, along with four others who in fact looked dead.

The four “dead” fought like brutes. Smashing the facility personnel around, swinging widely, headbutts, body slams, elbows, and knees. They were all dead within minutes. The girl who seemed to be leading them picked something small up from one of the desks, and flipped it over in her palm, rolling it in her palm. The video flashed fuzz for a split second, almost too fast to catch, but in that split second, the girl and the four others had disappeared. Apparently, into thin air.

 

Peter sat on the edge of the desk with his arms crossed, swinging his feet slowly, letting his toes skim the floor.

“Who were those people? Those four?”

Natasha picked up a tablet from the other side of the desk, stepped over, and handed it to him. Peter glanced up at her, then down at the screen. Four photos with names underneath. The photos matched the faces of the four people from the security tape, but the people in the security tape were still different. A glazed over look on their faces, and movements Peter’s spidey sense picked up as vaguely inhuman.

Levi Brooks, Alex Suuza, Eliza Middleton, and Arianna Meghan.

“Anything significant about them?” Peter asked, looking back up at Natasha, who stood a few feet in front of him.

“Yeah. All of them except Alex were on some kind of antidepressants.”

Peter furrowed his brow, looking back down at the screen.

“And the girl? Who the hell is she?”

“Ironic you might use that term,”

Peter whipped his head around. Bruce loomed in the doorway, hands in his pockets, hair maybe a bit more of a mess than usual. Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“The security camera in the SHIELD facility was equipped with heat sensory...none of them gave off a heat signature of any kind. As far as we can tell, they’re dead.”

“As interesting as that is…” Peter replied, and then turned back to face Natasha. “Doesn’t answer my question.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

“We don’t know where she came from. She could be a mutant, but we aren’t sure,” Steve said.

Peter nodded, and strained his neck to look over his shoulder at Steve.

“Sounds like a fucking party.”

 

Wade threw a cheez-it up in the air and caught it in his mouth before answering his vibrating phone.

“Hello, you have reached the son of Satan; Press 'one' for Planned Parenthood, 'two' for the Southern Baptist Convention, and 'three' for Harvey Weinstein.”

“ _ Wade,” _

Wade smiled slightly, popping a handful of cheez-its into his mouth.

“Hey, baby boy,” Wade said with his mouth full.

“ _ Found out a bit more about what’s going on...though it’s not like that made matters crystal clear.” _

“Knew a stripper once named Krystal Klear. She was related to Kim Kardashian.  _ Huge  _ nipples.”

“ _ Maybe she can help us figure out what’s going on here.” _

“Well if anyone could, it’d be Krystal…” Wade paused, “So you are going to help the ‘Vengers ‘venge?”

Silence stretched out over the line. Wade waited patiently. Eventually, Peter sighed.

“ _ Fuck, I guess...Who the fuck am I kidding, of course I’m going to help,”  _ Peter said.

Wade tossed another cheez-it into the air, but missed it when it fell back down, and it disappeared into the couch.

“Well, call me if you need me, Spideybae.”

“ _ I will.” _

Wade didn’t respond, just fingered the seam of his pants, unwilling to end the conversation or the call.

“ _ I’ll be careful, Wade,”  _ Peter said.

Wade blew his cheeks out briefly, then responded chipperly.

“Ah, I’m not worried, Peter Rabbit. You’re  _ The _ Amazing Spiderman,” Wade said, but it sounded a little tight, even to him.

“ _ Damn straight, baby,”  _ Peter replied.

Wade continued to pick at the seam of his pants.

“...When will you be back?” Wade asked lowly.

_ When will my husband return from war? _

“ _ I don’t know…”  _ Peter paused, “ _ Hopefully by Tuesday. I have a paper due.” _

Wade smirked slightly, but something clenched inside him when Peter said Tuesday.

“Tell whoever the fuck’s fucking the world over to make like Voldemort and prioritize your education over world domination,” Wade responded. Peter snorted.

“ _ Will do.” _

“Call me,” Wade said, “ _ maybe,"  _ he added.

He could feel Peter’s eyeroll.

“ _ I will, Wade. Soon. I love you.” _

The corner of Wade’s mouth tugged up, but he continued to stare down at his lap.

“You’re the sugar plum to my Splinter,” Wade replied. Wade imagined Peter smiling in his head.

After a moment, Peter hung up, so Wade let go of his phone and let it drop next to him on the couch.

Wade sighed heavily, lifting his head again. After a moment of stillness, he picked up his box of cheez-itz, and jerked it up quickly before yanking it back down. A shower of tiny orange squares rained down over him and the couch.

“Mothercunt.”


	2. Forcibly Teabagged By a Whisper Of Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work should just be called "Phone Conversations with Wade and Peter" because that's apparently the meat of what all these chapters turn out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So, I didn't edit this as much as I originally wanted to, but today I was just like "eh, fuck it" and decided to post this. Uh...yeah, that's about it. 
> 
> Formatting decided to fuck me. Again. Also trying to copy and paste this chapter was *actual* hell, so idk what was wrong with that. Nothing with ao3, though, just me and my fuckery that apparently turns everything I touch into an over complicated mess of hatred. 
> 
> So...yeah! Hope you enjoy, it's a little shorter than I wanted it to be, but...whatever.

Peter tapped his fingers against the desk. He was essentially sitting on his hands, waiting for the others to get their shit together apparently. He still had no idea where Tony was. Maybe out of town, he supposed.   
  
Peter crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Walked away, pushed at a punching bag absently as he passed, and just as he resolved to go looking for somebody, Natasha came back in. She stopped in front of Peter and crossed her arms.  
  
“The boys are getting ready to head up state to the SHIELD facility that was broken into,” she said.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Peter asked.   
  
“Talk to Dr. Esha Sadana. She was doctor to three out of our four dead,” Natasha explained. Peter raised an eyebrow.   
  
“Are we calling them that? Dead?”   
  
Natasha stared at him for a moment.   
  
“Have anything better to call them?” She asked.   
  
“Not really,” Peter replied.   
  
“Then let’s go with dead.”   
  
Peter just nodded, and turned to get his mask. 

 

  
Dr. Sadana’s practice was on the third floor of a five story building, settled in between a children’s dentist and a chiropractor’s office. Suite 317. The window of Dr. Sadana’s office faced a wall with very few windows.   
  
Peter climbed up with Natasha on his back, and tried not to think about it too much.   
  
Natasha pulled the window open, and they both climbed in. Peter shut the window behind them. Natasha immediately walked over to the filing cabinet against the wall, whilst Peter went for the computer on the desk. It wasn’t long, however, until Peter heard footsteps coming toward the office.    
He stood up from the desk, and waved his hand to get Natasha’s attention, then gestured toward the door.   
  
Nat closed the filing cabinet, then walked up to the door. Peter followed her, and they situated themselves on either side of it, hunched over and waiting.    
The door opened a moment later, and Nat sprang forward, covering the woman’s mouth with her hand before she could scream. Peter closed the door.    
The woman’s chest heaved, she stared wide eyed between them back and forth.   
  
“I’m Spiderman. You recognize me?” Peter asked, staring the woman in the eyes. After a second, she nodded. “Then you know we’re not going to hurt you?”   
  
She still just stared at them wide eyed.   
  
“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth now,” Natasha said calmly, “we just want to ask you some questions.”   
  
After a tense few seconds, the woman nodded.   
  
Natasha slowly took her hand away. The woman stepped away quickly, taking a second with her back turned to herself, before turning back around the face the supers in her office.   
  
“Are you Doctor Esha Sadana?” Natasha asked. The woman hesitated.   
  
“Yes,” she finally said.   
  
Peter narrowed his eyes.   
  
“Do you know why we’re here, Doctor?”   
  
Again, Dr. Sadana hesitated.   
  
Peter glanced at Natasha out of the corner of his eye.   
  
“You’ll let me explain? Before you say, or do anything...you’ll let me explain?” Dr. Sadana asked.   
  
Natasha nodded once.   
  
Dr. Sadana moved, then, to her desk. Not sitting down, just standing behind it, as if using it as a barrier. Natasha and Peter stood on the other side of the desk, facing her.   
Dr. Sadana put her hands down on the desk top, and stared down at it instead of up at them. She said nothing for a minute.  
  
“Most of my patients are depressed in one way or another,” she started. Peter once again glanced at Natasha, but she still stared intensely at Dr. Sadana. “Like Levi Brooks, Arianna Meghan, and Eliza Middleton.”   
  
Peter instantly recognized the names. The three missing who were on antidepressants.   
  
Dr. Sadana looked up at them.   
  
“Usually, I wouldn’t break doctor-patient confidentiality. Not for anything,” she said.  
  
“Then, three nights ago, a little girl shows up in my office. A lot like you two. Only it was night, and I was the only on here, getting ready to leave. This girl-she was weird. Reminded-maybe-of a mutant,” Dr. Sadana said, looking back down. “She knew things…” Dr. Sadana trailed off, eyes trailing over the woodgrains in the desk.    
“She knew things about me and my life that she had no business knowing. Long story short, I-...I told her everything she wanted to know.”  
  
“What did she want to know?” Natasha asked.   
  
“Names, addresses, diagnoses,” Dr. Sadana answered with little inflection.   
  
“She could have gotten all that from your filing cabinet,” Natasha replied.   
  
Dr. Sadana didn’t respond.   
  
Peter twitched. His spider sense stirred slightly.   
  
Dr. Sadana turned around slowly to face the window, about three steps away. Peter heard her begin to cry softly. He hadn’t previously gotten the impression she was a woman who cried easily.   
  
“Doctor?” Peter stepped around the desk, spider sense tingling. Natasha mirrored him, going around the other side of the desk.   
  
“Sh-she _ eee _ wa-want- _ ed _ ,” Dr. Sadana stuttered, hands clenching at her sides. Peter reached for her shoulder.   
  
Dr. Sadana suddenly lunged, sprinting forward and throwing her whole body at the window.   
  
“ _ Motherfu _ -!” Peter shouted, lunging after her.  
  
Dr. Sadana’s body crashed through the window, falling headlong out. Peter jumped out after her, grabbing her around the waist as they fell through the air. Peter shot a rop of web up at the adjacent building, and caught them before hitting the ground.   
  
They swung forward, soared through the air, Dr. Sadana unconscious under Peter’s arm.   
  
They swung backward, passed the widow of Dr. Sadana’s office where Nat stood, staring at them intently, confusion etched onto her face.   
  
They swung forward again, and when they reached the point closest to the ground Peter dropped. He landed on his feet with Dr. Sadana held bridal style in his arms.    
Small cuts and scratches littered Dr. Sadana’s face, neck, and arms. Peter’s chest rose and fell quickly, and he stared down at the woman in shock. He didn’t understand. Before she had turned around, she had seemed fine. Hard as nails. Stern. That sort of type. Peter’s eyes trailed over Dr. Sadana’s face. There was something off about her, something making Peter’s spider sense twitch inside him. Not a full reaction, or activation, or whatever. Just a...discomfort.   
  
After a minute or two, he turned around. Nat had climbed down from the third floor window, and was now standing across the alley in front of the car they had come in.    
“We gotta go, Spiderman,” she said, fiddling with something on her watch before looking up at him. “Bring her.”   
  
Peter turned, and followed Nat, carrying Dr. Sadana, who was strangely cold in his arms.  


 

Wade sat at the bar with his feet up on the countertop, ankles crossed. He sipped his drink with his mask rolled up to reveal his mouth. He usually got a lot of his smaller scale jobs in this bar. All the wrong people came here.   
  
Que door opening.   
  
After a moment, he felt someone lingering by his side. Wade set his drink down on the bar, and rolled his mask down.   
  
“Are you Deadpool?”   
  
Wade slowly turned his head to look at the person with the most sarcastic expression he could manage.   
  
The kid stared back at him.   
  
“No. I’m Darren Criss.”   
  
Wade and the kid stared at each other.  
  
“So you are Deadpool?” The kid asked.   
  
“Yes I’m Deadpool, motherfucker!” Wade exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Then, he pointed one finger at the kid. “But I did kill Versace,” Wade said matter-of-factly. The kid looked unimpressed. Wade squinted.  
  
“Wait a minute, I know you…”   
  
The kid raised an eyebrow. Wade studied him intently, eyes trailing over the kid’s firey red hair, generous freckles, and slim stature. Wade snapped his fingers in his face.    
“Bingo! You’re that alley beating kid! Kevin! It was the eyes that gave it away.”   
  
Kevin looked confused.   
  
“Alley beating? How the fuck do you know about that?”   
  
Wade laughed,   
  
“Oh, right, it’s me! It’s Wade! You bought me pancakes from a chicken wing place!” Wade explained.   
  
Kevin furrowed his eyebrows.   
  
“Wade?”   
  
Wade pressed his hands to his heart.   
  
“Aww, you remembered!”   
  
“You didn’t. My name is Cayden.”   
  
“Whatever, Kevin.”   
  
“You’re Deadpool?”   
  
“I’m pretty sure that’s what’s been established,” Wade said patiently, folding his hands in his lap, still sitting with his feet up on the bar.   
  
“Seriously?” Cayden asked.   
  
“The fuck did you expect? Ryan Reynolds? Have you seen that guy’s forehead?”   
  
Cayden stared for a moment longer, then shook his head before slipping his hands into his pockets.   
  
“Anyway...I’m here for a reason.”   
  
“Oh, Kevin…” Wade started, reaching out to put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “We’re all here for a reason, you just have to find it.”   
  
Cayden shrugged Wade’s hand off his shoulder.   
  
“I mean a reason for a Mercenary.”   
  
Wade looked at him questioningly. 

“You know that guy? Edan? The one who was beating the shit out of me in the alley?”   
  
Wade looking up and thought for a minute.   
  
“Hmm...the short one?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Then, yes, continue,” Wade said, gesturing with his hand.   
  
“He stole twelve thousand dollars in cash from me.”   
  
Wade stared at him, and narrowed his eyes.   
  
“You really need some relationship counseling.”   
  
The kid rolled his eyes.   
  
“We aren’t together.”   
  
Wade rolled his eyes with a full head motion.   
  
“Sure,” he said.   
  
“I need my fucking money back, and I want Edan to fucking pay for taking it.”   
  
Wade pursed his lips, and crossed his arms over his chest.   
  
“So you decided to come find the friendly neighborhood mercenary?”   
  
“Well it’s not like fuckin’ Spiderman’s gonna help me, is he?”   
  
Wade slowly glanced at the wall behind the bar for a significant minute, then back at the kid.   
  
“Do you know where Edan is?” Wade asked, moving and planting his feet on the ground. Cayden raised an eyebrow.   
  
“How much is this going to cost me?”   
  
Wade stood up, and stretched, folding his arms behind his head and straining up on his tiptoes.   
  
“Cost ya? Oh, nothin’, kiddo! This one’s on the house,” Wade answered. Cayden scoffed.   
  
“I find that fuckin’ hard to believe,” he said drily. Then he paused, “why?” He asked. Wade started walking towards the exit, and Cayden followed after him.   
  
“Bae’s on a business trip. I’m doin’ this one out of the boredom of my heart.”   
  
Cayden shrugged.   
  
“Whatever, man.”   
  
Wade stopped on the sidewalk outside the bar, turning again to the kid.   
  
“So, where’s Edan?”   
  
Cayden looked around the street again, hands still in his pockets.  
  
“I already tried where he lives and he wasn’t there, so...Probably at Christian’s,” Cayden replied, “that’s his sister’s baby daddy.”    
Wade grinned widely.   
  
“Sounds like a party!”   
  
Wade started off down the sidewalk. Cayden stayed put. He let Wade get several yards down the street before calling out:   
  
“Christian lives the other way!”   
  
Deadpool turned around and walked back.   
  
“Sounds like a party!” Wade repeated as he passed Cayden again, who rolled his eyes and followed him.    


  
Peter sat on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom across the hall from the room they had brought Dr. Sadana to. An inconsequential little break room of sorts, consisting of a small kitchen, a couch, and a TV.   
  
Peter’s mask hung on the sink a few feet away.   
  
His phone held loosely in his hand. It was stupid, acting like this over a woman who  _ almost _ killed herself seemingly without reason or warning.    
Fuck, he’s been through a whole lot fucking worse than this, right? Yet this is what makes him sit still staring at the floor? This isn’t even sad! She’s not even dead.    
Hell, his spider sense was even tingling, so it’s not like he can say it was unexpected!   
  
Peter sat up straight, dug is finger and thumb into his closed eyes.   
_   
_ _ Fuck, shit, get it together, Parker.   
_   
He debated calling Wade.   
  
He unlocked his phone, went to contacts, and hit Dope Ass Fresh Prince without another thought.   
  
It rang three times before Wade picked up.   
  
“ _ Baby boy! What’s stop, drop, and rollin’ _ ?” Wade exclaimed as soon as he picked up.   
  
Peter scrunched up his nose.   
  
“ _ I’ll take your silence as your awestruck appreciation for my voice _ .”   
  
“That’s totally it, Wade,” Peter replied.   
  
“ _ What’s wrong, bugaboo _ ?”   
  
“You calling me bugaboo for starters?”   
  
“ _ Peter, what’s wrong _ ?” Wade asked, slightly more serious this time.   
  
Peter ran his hand through his hair.   
  
“Kind of a...weird thing happened. Not really weird, but my reaction to it is weird.”   
  
“ _ What happened _ ?”   
  
“Just...this woman...she jumped out of her window. I saved her, but...I don’t know, it’s weird, Wade. I feel like I got forcibly teabagged by a whisper of evil.”   
  
“ _ Now that’s a chapter title. _ ”   
  
Peter said nothing.   
  
“ _ If it’s a whisper, wouldn’t it just be like...evil dragging its soft and flaccid dick across your face _ ?”   
  
“It’s my unexplainable feeling, Wade, I get to call it whatever I want,” Peter replied.   
  
“ _ Fair enough, Peter Rabbit. What can I do _ ?”   
  
Peter breathed out through his nose,   
  
“Nothing, Wade, I just...felt like calling, so I did.”   
  
“ _ Happy ya did, baby, _ ”   
  
“What are you up to?”   
  
“ _ Helping a ginger get back twelve thousand dollars from his ex boyfriend. _ ”   
  
“Helping?”   
  
“ _ I’m taking one out of your book. Friendly neighborhood mercenary guy. _ ”   
  
Peter frowned,   
  
“Wait-ginger? Is this that same guy from a couple weeks ago?”    
  
“ _ You’re attention to detail is actually impressive. Seriously, it took me a few seconds to recognize him and he bought me  _ pancakes.”   
  
Peter’s frown deepened.   
  
“ _ Baby, don’t be jelly. The kid’s twelve! _ ”   
  
“ _ I’m seventeen _ .”   
  
Peter heard another voice from the line.   
  
“You’re with him now?” Peter asked.   
  
“ _ Well, yeah, we’re on our way to Kevin’s, ex-boyfriend’s, sister’s, baby daddy’s place _ !”  
  
Peter blinked.   
  
“Wow,” he replied.   
  
“ _ Seriously, Peter, you seriously think I’d ever get anywhere near a seventeen year old kid _ ?”   
  
“Jesus, ‘course not, Wade, like I said, I just...I feel fuckin’ weird, okay?”   
  
“ _ Are you okay _ ?”   
  
Peter sat back against the back of the toilet, and leaned his head back against the wall.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine...I love you, Wade,” Peter said.   
  
Wade was silent for a few seconds. Peter just closed his eyes.   
  
“ _ You’re the Gucci to my slides _ .”   
  
Peter’s mouth quirked up slightly.   
  
“That was actually pretty sweet.”   
  
“ _ Yeah, well… _ ” Wade said, “ _ love is comparisons to material things _ .”   
  
“I think love is just love.”   
  
“ _ Love is love is love is love is love is- _ ”   
  
“Okay, Armie, we get it.”   
  
“ _ Ooh-coming up on the apartment building. You good, baby boy _ ?”   
  
Peter smiled, eyes still closed.   
  
“Yeah, I’m good, Wade.”   
  
“ _ Call me when you can _ .”  
  
“I will. Be good.”  
  
“ _ Psssh, who the fuck do you think I am _ ?”   
  
“Elvis.”   
  
“ _ I can dig Elvis _ .”   
  
“I’m hanging up, Wade.”   
  
“ _ Wait! You have to ride on my motorcycle, and share a milkshake with me, and eventually die of AIDS after several years of being apart because of my incapacitating PTSD _ !”  
  
Peter opened his eyes and blinked up at the ceiling.   
  
“ _ Too close to home? _ ” Wade asked.   
  
“Shut up. Be good. I’m hanging up.”   
  
“ _ Aww, that’s what you always say _ .”

Peter rolled his eyes.   
  
“See you, then.” He said, and hung up. 

He sat still for a moment, then reached over and grabbed his mask off the sink, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before pulling the mask over his head.   
  
Peter walked back into the break room with his mask back on. Natasha was standing with her back against the counter, staring at Dr. Sadana, who was not sitting up on the couch, staring at the ground with her hands folded between her knees.   
  
Peter walked over to Nat.   
  
“She say anything?” Peter asked.   
  
“No. She just sat up. 'Was waiting for you before I talked to her."   
  
Peter nodded, and then walked over to the couch. Dr. Sadana looked up at him.    


  
Wade ended the call, and put his phone back in his pocket.   
  
“Are you done?”   
  
Wade looked over at Kevin, standing with his hands in his pockets next to the door.   
  
“Yeah, what’re we waiting for?” Wade asked, passing him and walking into the building. Kev-Cayden followed behind him.   
  
“You mean what you said?”   
  
“About riding on my motorcycle, sharing a milkshake, AIDS, and PTSD?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Gucci slides?”   
  
“No.”   
  
Wade thought for a moment as he headed for the stairs.   
  
“...Honestly, I can’t remember anything else I said.”   
  
“The thing with me being seventeen,” Cayden said, walking up the stairs behind him.   
  
“That you are seventeen?” Wade asked. Cayden huffed.   
  
“No, motherfucker, that you wouldn’t touch me because I’m seventeen,” he said in annoyance.   
  
“Oh...yeah, no,” Wade replied. “What floor?”   
  
“Second,” Cayden responded.   
  
“What, did you think I would?” Wade asked him.   
  
Cayden shrugged.   
  
“I was just curious. Never met any guy who cared before.”   
  
“You meet a lot of guys?” Wade asked.   
  
“You do favors for a lot of teenagers?”  
  
“Only ones that buy me pancakes.”   
  
“That makes you the whore.”   
  
Wade laughed,   
  
“Oh,  _ Kevin… _ ” Wade said, shaking his head at the boy’s naivety. “I’m  _ always _ the whore.”    
  
The interior of the shitty little two story apartment building was like the cover of an Addicts Living magazine. Cayden lead him to door number 212. Wade kicked the door in, brandishing his katanas. “Here’s Johnny, motherfuckers!”   
  
A girl screamed, jumping up from the couch. A baby started crying from a Graco in the corner. After a second, a man-assumedly Christian- ran into the room in his underwear, holding a gun, traces of white powder left around his right nostril.   
  
Both of them stared at Wade.   
  
Cayden walked into the room after Wade, stepping closer to both of them.   
  
“Where the fuck’s Edan?” Cayden demanded. Christian’s face twisted in confusion and anger. He lowered his gun.  
  
“Cayden?!” He exclaimed.   
  
The girl ran across the room to the Graco with the screaming baby, lifting her up and cradling her in her arms. The girl glared at Wade. Wade took a shy step back, and slowly hid his katana’s behind his back.   
  
“Where’s Edan?!” Cayden repeated, louder this time.   
  
“ _ We don’t fuckin’ know _ !” The girl screamed at him, then glanced back at Deadpool. “Get the fuck out of my house!”   
  
Cayden took a step closer to Christian.   
  
“He took my fucking money,” Cayden said, fuming.   
  
“Oh my god, get out!” The girl shrieked, making the baby cry louder. Christian waved his arm toward her.   
  
“ _ Shut up _ !” He exclaimed.   
  
Wade narrowed his eyes.   
  
Cayden didn’t acknowledge it.  
  
“I know you know something, Christian,” Cayden said lowly. “You always fuckin’ do.”   
  
Christian scoffed, then glanced behind Cayden at Wade, who loomed obnoxiously.   
  
“So you brought this fucker? To what?”   
  
“Hold hands and skip,” Wade replied.   
  
Christian side-eyed him, then looked back to Cayden.  
  
“Where’s my money, Christian?” Cayden asked.   
  
“Chris-”   
  
“What?!” Christian whipped around to look at the girl, still cradling the baby. She bit her lip and looked down briefly, but looked back up after a second at Cayden, a hard look on her face.   
  
“I don’t know where Edan is, but I know he said he owed money,” she said.   
  
Cayden stared at her.   
  
“Who money?” He asked.   
  
“He didn’t give me his fuckin’ business card,” she replied.   
  
“When’s the last time you saw Edan?” Wade interjected. She whipped her head over to stare at Wade before responding.   
  
“Four days ago. Ain’t unusual.”   
  
Wade trailed his eyes over bruises on the girl’s wrist and neck, her bloodshot eyes, then the baby in her arms, then he looked over at Christian.  
  
“Well, unless there’s anything else?” Wade asked.  
  
Cayden shook his head, turning around and walking out without another word.   
  
Wade glanced around the room again, spinning his katana’s in his grip at his sides. He took in the atmosphere of empty beer cans, a bag of weed and carton of cigarettes on the table, the broken TV, the dent in the wall, the gun held loosely in Christian’s hand, and the coke around his nose, the dirty carpet, and the bruises on the girl.    
Wade looked at the baby, clad in a too-large thrift store onesie.   
  
“What’s her name?” Wade asked, as if coming across them in a grocery store.   
  
The girl hesitated, staring strangely.   
  
“...Ellie.”   
  
Wade cocked his head, and grinned widely.   
  
“Good luck, Ellie.”   
  
Wade sheathed his katanas, turned, and walked out, side stepping the door that hung off its hinges. He glanced over his shoulder at Christian, and said:

“You should probably get that fixed. Bad neighborhood you know!”    
Wade stepped out into the hall, whistling the tune to Total Eclipse of The Heart.d his katanas, turned, and walked out, side stepping the door that hung off its hinges. He glanced over his shoulder at Christian, and said:

“You should probably get that fixed. Bad neighborhood you know!” 

Wade stepped out into the hall, whistling the tune to  _ Total Eclipse of The Heart _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you liked it...whatever *it* was, I'm still not entirely sure. 
> 
> Idk why Wade was whistling to the tune of Total Eclipse of the Heart. We're just gonna go with it. We're just gonna go with a lot of things. That's kind of how this whole entire work is turning out haha......yeah.


	3. Ghosted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am not dead! (what a surprise!) 
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than it was originally supposed to be, but I decided it would be better to give the additional part it was supposed to have it's own chapter.

_ “It’s...not really explainable. What she does to you.”  _

The words of Dr. Sadana replayed over in Peter’s mind as Steve pried the door opened. 

Their footsteps barely made a sound as they entered the dark building. A large hall stretched out on either side of them. 

_ Dr. Sadana fidgeted with her hands. Picked at her manicured nails. Her eyes flit across the floor, but didn’t look up.  _

_ Dr. Sadana did not seem like the woman to hide or fidget.  _

“Hawkeye and I will go right. You two go left,” Steve said to Nat, who nodded once in reply. She shared a look with Clint, and then the four of them split into our separate directions. 

To say that Peter hated the building they had just walked into would be an understatement. All of the hair on his neck, back, and arms stood up. He tried to figure out where it was coming from. Try to narrow down the feeling into a direction, or  _ something _ . But it was more like it was crushing. A box getting smaller and smaller, walls closing in, elevator doors closing, water pouring in,  _ where are the nails _ .

_ “What does she do?” Nat asked, arms folded, staring at the doctor with one eyebrow raised.  _

_ Dr. Sadana looked up. Her eyes met Nat’s. Peter watched.  _

_ “She makes you want to jump out of a window,” said Dr. Sadana, seeming to gather herself. Yoga breaths, count to ten, pull taut the thread. Peter knew the thought well. Now is not the time to collapse. Dr. Sadana cleared her throat. “I’ve been a therapist for eleven years. I’ve dealt with plenty of suicidal people. I know what intrusive thoughts are. I’ve never wanted to hurt myself in anyway.”  _

The further into the factory Peter walked, the more he wanted to crawl up inside himself and curl into fetal position. He heard a drum in his ears, taking up most of the room in his throat-he was skittish. Nat glanced over at him and gave him a look. He just shook his head and waved his hand mismally. 

_ Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. _

Or whatever. 

_ “Wait a second.”  _

_ Peter glanced over at Nat.  _

_ “Slow down. Who is this person?” She asked.  _

_ Dr. Sadana twisted the ring on her finger, glancing around the room once before her eyes came back to Natasha and Peter.  _

_ “I don’t know,” she said, “but she can’t be human.”  _

_ Well, they pretty much knew that already.  _

_ “You’re not being very helpful here, doc,” Peter said. Nat side-eyed him briefly.  _

_ The doctor leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. Foundations were buckling. When you stand on top of a tall building, it feels like it’s swaying. How long would it take before someone would notice it was swaying for real? Peter narrowed his eyes, assessing Dr. Sadana. _

_ “I know. I’m very sorry. It feels like I have this...this...magnet on my tongue, making it stick to the roof of my mouth.”  _

Peter swallowed. Fidgeted the fingers of his left hand at his side.  _ What the fuck was wrong with him?  _ Get it together, Parker. 

Nat pulled open a heavy door. Revealing a large, open room with a high ceiling. Probably made for storing large equipment or something. They stepped in. 

Peter’s heart immediately dropped with the first step. 

It was dark. Peter stopped a few feet in. Looked around. Turned in a slow circle. His spider sense was acting like he was about to explode. An almost audible  _ tic, tic, tic _ ...Anticipations runs high in the movie theater. Will James Bond do the thing before the clock runs out? 

That...discomfort was back. The same sort of feeling like from Dr. Sadana’s office. 

_ “It felt like I wasn’t even me. It was like I couldn’t remember anything good in my life. Anything happy. Like they were behind a closed door, and I couldn’t open it. It was like someone was whispering in my ear, telling me to move. To get up. To walk to the window. It was like I was submerged in liquid, like control was slowly being taken away from me. Persuaded away from me. And every second it was like something warm was trickling down the back of my throat, reaching in. Like someone else was there.” _

Someone else was here. 

That was the core thought in Peter’s mind. It was like a damn horror movie. 

_ Come out, come out where you are, ya little shit.  _

“Ghost with the most here.” 

_ We love a sister with movie references.  _ Wade’s voice reverberated around in Peter’s head immediately. 

Peter and Nat both whipped around towards the voice. There she stood, along with seven other people behind her. All of them Peter recognized from the missing persons pictures he had seen. The four closest to the girl were the four from the security tape. It was even stranger seeing them in person. They were...dead. But still, they stood. Swayed a bit on their feet, like being lulled by a breeze. Stared blankly with cold eyes. If you’ve ever seen someone die, you never forget those eyes. 

“Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” Peter asked. 

_ When it doubt, sarcasm it out.  _

Natasha flicked her eyes over to glance at Peter. He didn’t look at her. He stared directly into the girl’s eyes and resisted the urge to shudder. 

_ You never forget those eyes.  _

“That might be the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” he mocked. 

A small smile tuggest the girl’s mouth up. 

The seven zombies around her lunged. 

“Cap! Hawkeye! We have a situation,” Nat said furiously into her com. 

“ _ On our way.”  _ Came Cap’s reply.

One of them barrelled right for Peter, who immediately jumped up, sticking to the ceiling. The zombie person-let’s call them  _ ghosts _ -stumbled forward, having anticipated running into Peter instead of thin air. 

Natasha fought four ghosts. They were surprisingly good at dodging. Peter looked over, and started crawling across the ceiling toward the girl- _ Ghost  _ with a big G-and watched as she flicked her eyes up to look at him, an amused expression crossing her face. Then, she raised her hand slowly. Peter stopped to stare at her.

Ghost grinned, then flipped her hand over, palm up. 

Three of the ghosts down before suddenly fell  _ up _ . Landing on the ceiling as if it were the floor. 

They stood up, shook themselves off, looked at Peter. 

“Well, fu-” 

They lunged. 

Peter released his hands so that he, too, was (sort of) standing on the ceiling as well. (Technically hanging...dangling?) 

He blocked a punch, threw one, stumbled backwards. 

Don’t fight the friction. 

His fist connected with a ghost’s jaw, and she fell back onto the ceiling, again, as if it were the floor. 

It wasn’t like their gravity had changed. No, their hair and clothes were all gravitating towards the floor below. But it was like something in the ceiling was holding it to them. Like a magnet. They even had a weird, floaty manuverment about them. They weren’t on solid ground at all. 

_ This is some Alice in Wonderland type shit.  _

Peter glanced down at  _ the  _ Ghost. She was staring intently up at them, fingers fidgeting at her sides. Her eyes briefly flicked down to Natasha and- _ hey look, Steve!- _ and the ghosts fighting them.

Peter looked back up. Another ghost lunging for him. 

Peter dodged quickly, and put his hands back to the ceiling. He made fast work of crawling across the ceiling, but when he was almost to the point he was trying to get to, a ghost grabbed his ankle and pulled. 

Peter let himself be yanked back, and let go of the ceiling. Using the death-grip (har) around his ankle as a tether, he swung around behind the ghost, spinning him around and making him lose balance. The ghost fell directly into Peter as Peter planted his feet firmly on the ceiling again. Peter swung him into a chokehold.

He hooked his arm around the ghost’s neck, and swung from his neck around his body like a monkey. He wrapped his legs around the ghost’s torso, and choked him, holding tight to the wrist of the arm crushing the ghost’s neck. 

The ghost stumbled backwards, and Peter just held on for the ride impromptu piggyback ride. The ghost’s feet were becoming more and more unsure on the ceiling, as though walking through loose, wet dirt. Peter didn’t have to look down. He immediately straightened his legs and  _ pushed  _ off as hard as he could against the ceiling. The force broke the ghost from the ceiling. Peter moved his arms around quickly, swinging the puppet right into the puppetmaster. 

Ghost was knocked off her feet. Peter let go of the little-g-ghost, and the puppet immediately fell back unto the ceiling with a loud  _ crack  _ at the same time Peter landed on his feet on the ground.

Peter stepped forward to where Ghost was rising to her feet. He immediately shot his web shooters. The sticky binding wrapped around Ghost from neck to ankles, but she didn’t fall. 

She stared at Peter with an apathetic annoyance. 

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard-” Peter said, shooting more webs at her, and sending her flying back, trapping her against the wall, the force of it making the drywall split in fractured cracks around her. -”and I live with Deadpool.” 

Ghost simply smiled. 

“I always liked spiders.” 

Peter whipped around to check on Nat, Steve, and now Clint. They stood over the collapsed bodies of the four ghosts they had been fighting. All three of them were staring at him and Ghost, chests rising and falling quickly. 

Suddenly, their faces fell, and Steve and Clint started to lunge, only to stop after just a second. 

“Shit,” Nat said. 

Peter quickly turned back around to see that Ghost was gone. 

Webs rearranged across the wall into words. 

_ REDRUM _

Wade would’ve appreciated the reference. 

“Fuck.” 

_ “I don’t know what else to tell you,” Dr. Sadana said, looking up at Peter. She looked afraid. “That thing is...death.”  _

The three unmoving ghosts stuck to the ceiling fell to the floor with a heavy  _ thump.  _

Peter turned back around to face Natasha. It was like a pressure had been lifted off of his chest. 

But the pressure hadn’t been necessarily painful, just...very much there. Unignorable.

“What the hell?” Peter asked. 

He was met with silence. 

A smell started to fill the air. The bodies around them started to melt. 

Peter froze. He watched the corpse closest to him start to reduce into a translucent, bluish goo. The miasma filled Peter’s nose, coated his throat. He stepped back several feet as the liquid (all that was left of the quickly disappearing body now) seeped toward him, then started to bubble, and finally evaporated into air. 

“Sorry- _ What the fuck?!”  _

Peter exclaimed, gesturing wildly towards where the body was only a few moments early, then behind him where Ghost was just moments earlier, to the whole room. 

No trace of any ghost was left in the room. 

 

**_Four Hours Earlier._ **

**_EXT. Outside Shitty Apartment. - DAY_ **

 

**You can’t just decide what’s not important.**

_ Watch me, bitch.  _

 

Wade hurried out after Cayden, who was walking swiftly, hands in his hoodie pockets. 

“Woah, slow down there, Kevin!” 

Wade exclaimed, chasing after him down the sidewalk. 

“Fuck off. I know a motel where he might be,” Cayden said as Wade caught up to him. Cayden continued staring intently at the ground. 

“Hey, kid, are you okay?” Wade asked. 

“The fuck’s that gotta do with anything? Fuck off, man.” 

Wade huffed dramatically. 

“ _ God  _ you’re so fucking  _ angsty _ , lighten up, Kev.” 

“I’ll lighten the fuck up when I get the fuck out of here.” 

They walked a few more steps. 

“Is that what the money’s for?” Wade asked. 

Cayden said nothing. 

“You just wanna get outta here, huh?” 

Silence. 

Wade kept in step with Cayden, mind wandering when he wasn’t given a response. After a few minutes though, Cayden finally spoke. 

“It’s all I’ve been trying to do for as long as I can remember.” 

Wade glanced over at him. 

“Where are you gonna go?” Wade inquired curiously. 

“Fuckin’ anywhere else.” 

Wade silently agreed with the statement. 

“I feel that feeling... _ Fucking. Anywhere. Else... _ Should be a mood status on Facebook.” 

“The fuck d’you know about it?” Cayden side eyed him. 

“Aww, come on, Kev, you’ve been around long enough not to judge a book by it’s spandex covered ass.” 

Cayden rolled his eyes, 

“I guess.” 

“Well don’t. They’re all basically the same. Say the name ‘ _ Martha’  _ a couple times and you can make any of ‘em your bitch. Trust me. It’s been scientifically proven.” 

“Man, you make no damn sense literally any of the time,” he said, shaking his head. 

“I make perfect sense.” 

“To  _ who _ ?” 

“The audience.” 

Cayden stared at him strangely for a second. 

“Honestly man, I think you lost them too.” 

Wade grinned. 

After a second, and they’d turned the corner, Wade remembered what they had been talking about. 

“But wait! We were talking backstories. Please-develop as a character,” Wade said, gesturing to Cayden.

“What’s it to you?”

Once again, Wade shrugged. 

“Exactly.” 

Cayden considered this. 

“Okay,” he said after a minute, and shot Wade a look. Wade sensed some tea. 

“I was born here. Single mom and all that shit. Shitty apartments, shitty school, and no options. Pretty much always known Edan and those guys. Started fucking like a year ago, but saying your gay where we live is basically like saying come shove a baseball bat up my ass. So really we didn’t really tell nobody. And-Edan’s always been a fuckin’ jackass. But It wasn’t like I was any different, or thought I was worth anything better.”

“So...how did you get into the alley situation?” Wade asked. 

Cayden continued staring down at the ground as they walked. 

“Edan was planning some shit to go down at some rich guy’s house. I didn’t wanna do it. Ended up getting Edan’s cousin arrested. Then we were arguing at his place, and I just left. Didn’t see him for two days after that. Then Edan and Reggie cornered me in the alley and beat the shit out of me.” 

“ _ Reggie _ ,” Wade repeated, clucking his tongue. 

“Yeah,” Cayden said. “Anyway,” he continued after a second, looking up again. “Now I need to get my fuckin’ money back so I can get out of here.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, my fiery headed friend, but I do try to look for all points of interest in every sob story I hear...whadda ‘bout your mom?” 

Cayden’s expression immediately hardened. 

“Unimportant.” 

Wade grinned, and gave a two finger salute. 

“Understood.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Love you lots! 
> 
> Random Nonsensical Advice: If you see a blue truck, run.


	4. Snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to CHAPTER FUCKING FOUR. At least, that's what I have this titled as in doc.

The room was cast in darkness. Heavy blackout curtains prevented any light from leaking in. It was a cavern of depression, and smelled about how you would expect such a hideaway to smell. 

No one had been by the room in a while. Everyone had given up on trying to talk to the man who had seemingly crumbled into this crisis no one else could understand. Everyone knew Tony was a depressed motherfucker. No one really thought he’d ever let that get in the way of being Tony Stark: Iron Man. 

But really, they should have expected this. Atlas will eventually shrug. 

Tony hated himself for comparing himself to Atlas, and rolled over in bed. 

He didn’t expect for there to be a knock on his door. 

He ignored it. 

Whoever it was knocked again. 

“Tony. It’s Bruce.” 

Tony opened his eyes for a moment. Closed them again. He didn’t want anyone to see him while he was this pathetic. Especially not Bruce. But then again, really, if there was one person who he  _ had  _ to let see him. 

Shit. Whatever. 

Tony reached over to the bedside table and hit the button on the remote that unlocked the door. 

He heard it unlock with a click as he sat up, putting his feet on the floor for the first time in several hours. He rubbed his face as Bruce came in the room. 

“Jesus Christ,” Bruce sighed, looking around the room. 

Tony sluggishly stood up, cracked his back, then walked past Bruce towards the bathroom. 

“What can I do for you, Dr. Banner?” Tony inquired, as though Bruce had just walked into his lab on any normal Tuesday to ask a question, and not his tomb dark bedroom where Tony had been basically dead to the world curled up in bed in his pajamas, not having shaved in several days. 

“What are you doing, Tony?” Bruce asked, turning in his place to trail his gaze with the man. 

Tony didn’t reply. Went into the bathroom, closed the door. 

He came out two minutes later, and stood across the room from Bruce, crossing his arms. 

“What’s can I do for you, Bruce?” Tony repeated his question. 

Bruce looked down and sighed, then looked back up and said,

“I’m pretty sure we could all use you outside this room.” 

Tony continued to consider Bruce without much of an expression. 

“They called the kid.” 

Tony raised his eyebrows. 

“Why?” 

“Because shit continues to go down without consideration for your depressive episodes.” 

Tony rolled his eyes and dropped his arms, walking a few steps away towards the window. He yanked the curtains open without fanfare, blinking casually past the temporary blindness and dizziness. 

“What? Four Avengers and they can’t get anything done without me? I left my credit cards out there you know.” 

It was Bruce’s turn to cross his arms over his chest and look down at the ground, chuckling darkly. 

“Have you talked to anybody, Tony? Anybody at all?” He asked. 

Tony turned around and swung his arms about, hitting his fist against his opposite palm a couple times. 

“Well, Steve’s been around asking if I wanted to build a snowman, Natasha did come by once and tried to kill me with her scary Russian murder stare, and Pepper stopped by about a day ago to call me an immature adolescent.” 

Bruce nodded his head, then tilted it to the side. 

“Well, don’t ever say they never did anything for you.” 

Tony snorted. 

Bruce stepped further into the room. 

“Tony...you gotta get out of this.” 

Tony stopped moving his arms. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, rubbing at them tiredly, his other hand on his hip. 

“You know, Bruce, I’m really tired right now, so if you could just-” 

“You’re going to destroy yourself.”

“-leave,” Tony finished, staring at Bruce. 

The tension was tangible, but Tony wasn’t up to keeping that kind of energy alive, so instead, he sat down on the window sill, holding on to the edges with his hands.    
“When’s the last time you ate? Showered? Left this room?” Bruce interrogated. 

Tony huffed in annoyance. 

“Get out, mom, you don’t understand me.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, and put his hands up in surrender. The doctor turned, and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

Tony sat with his back to the window for a long time, leaning his head back against it and closing his eyes. He was outlined by the harsh light pouring into the room, a featureless shadow among the rest of the mess that looked so much worse under the cruel light. 

 

The motel was probably on the same level as the apartment building they had just left. Wade thought the place looked vaguely familiar, but couldn’t put his finger on a specific memory. Cayden went into the reception lobby alone, going up to the desk and leaning his arm down on it. At one point while talking, he pointed outside at Wade who waited in the parking lot. The receptionist blanched when he saw Deadpool. 

Deadpool waved at the frightened man, who turned his head back toward Cayden immediately, and started saying words Wade couldn’t hear. 

Cayden came out a minute later. 

“Room 14,” he said. 

Wade grinned, and cracked his neck. 

 

Kicking in doors was always immensely therapeutic for Wade. 

Edan, who had been sleeping in the bed, jumped up and nearly fell off, instead backing up against the headboard in a half crouch, staring at the two intruders coming into his motel room with wide eyes. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

Wade stepped towards the bed, wielding his katanas, pointing them towards the thief. 

“Bitch better have my money,” he said. 

Edan looked at him like he was crazy. Kevin stepped out from behind Wade. Edan’s eyes fell to him, and his mouth dropped open. 

“Cay- _ what the fuck are you doing _ ?!” 

Cayden fumed, and lunged for Edan, popping his fist in his nose. Edan’s head snapped back, and he groaned in pain. Cayden stepped back, then looked wildly around the room. On the dresser across from the bed was a backpack. 

Cayden rushed over to it, yanking it open and finding his cash. He counted it, then turned to Wade. 

Wade grinned at him. 

“Hey! Look at that! Whatcha’ need me for?” 

Cayden glared, then turned back to Edan, who was still crouched on the bed, blood now dribbling out of his nostrils. 

“Bab- _ Cayden _ .  _ Please _ , I need that fucking money.” 

“You need to go fuck yourself,” Cayden spat back. 

“You don’t understand! They’ll  _ kill  _ me!” 

“Not my problem,” Cayden snarled, and roughly zipped the backpack up, slinging it over his shoulder. 

Edan cast a look at Wade, then scrambled off the bed. He was only wearing worn out jeans. He made a move to run towards Cayden, but Wade stopped him, pressing the tip of his blade against the nape of the man’s neck. 

Edan froze, hands held out non threateningly at his sides. 

“Cayden,” he said again. 

Cayden had stopped too. Was staring at Edan with a hard expression on his face. 

“Shut up,” Cayden said quietly, then looked away. 

Cayden’s eyes moved over Wade once, then he walked out of the motel room. 

Edan slowly turned around to face Wade. 

“Who the  _ fuck  _ are you?” He asked, brows furrowed, hands curled into shaking fists. 

Wade shrugged, sheathing his katanas behind his back. 

“Friendly, neighborhood, mercenary guy,” he said, then delivered a punch hard into Edan’s head, sending him crumpling to the floor. 

Wade stepped over the unconscious lump, and closed the door behind him as he walked out. 

 

_ “What do you mean she didn’t take anything from the facility?” Peter had asked, arms crossed as he listened to Steve and Clint tell what they found during their investigation of the facility.  _

_ “We mean, she didn’t take anything.”  _

_ “What about that thing she was holding in her hand?”  _

_ “It was a box of paperclips.”  _

_ Natasha narrowed her eyes.  _

Peter sighed, leaning over the sink. He ran his hand over his wet hair. He had gotten into the shower almost immediately after returning to Stark Tower, wishing he could have gone home, but knowing that they had shit to do. He wanted this wrapped up as soon as possible.

The shower placated Peter’s raging nerves slightly. He lifted his head and stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection blinked back at him. 

Peter turned, and stepped over to his stuff on the floor against the wall. He retrieved his phone from his bag, and called Wade. It rang four times before the mercenary picked up. 

_ “Hey, Peter!”  _

Was Wade’s excited exclamation. It sounded the slightest bit superficial, but Peter decided to let it go. They could talk about it later. 

Peter leaned back against the edge of the sink. 

“Hey, baby,” he said, “it’s been a hell of a long day.” 

“ _ You can say that again, baby boy.”  _

“How’s your adventure going?” Peter sighed. 

“ _ Mission accomplished actually. Got Kevin’s money back from the motherfucker who took it, and now I’m about to see the little budget Weasley off on the train to Hogwarts.”  _

Peter closed his eyes. 

“I’m really tired, Wade. Your bullshit does not help.” 

Wade snorted. 

“ _ We’ll have a Netflix binge when you get back. Pizza, taquitos, cocaine, frappuccinos...we’ll go all out.”  _

Peter smiled slightly. 

“Sounds great.” 

Wade didn’t reply. 

Peter waited a few seconds. 

“Is everything okay?” He finally asked. 

“ _ Eh, I’m sure we both have a whole shit ton of feelings to sort through. We can do it later in the comfort of blanket cocoons on our couch.”  _

Peter smiled again. 

“It’s a date.” 

“ _ I know this sounds like a terrible line, but I’m  _ literally  _ going into a tunnel, so I’ll see you later baby boy,”  _ Wade said. 

“See you later, Wade.” 

_ “I-”  _

The call dropped. Wade must have stepped into the tunnel. 

Peter tossed his phone over to his pile of clothes, and tried to work up the motivation to get dressed and face reality. 

 

Tony stared at the door, sitting on the end of his bed. It seemed a lot more intimidating than just a regular door. After a while, he rolled his eyes, got up, and walked out. 

He regretted it almost immediately, but didn’t turn around. He walked sluggishly toward the elevator, pushed the button. 

After a minute, it opened to reveal none other than the man in stripes himself. 

Steve looked surprised to see Tony. Tony resisted the urge to just turn around and go back to bed. Instead, he boarded the elevator, and pushed the button that would take him to his lab. 

The elevator doors closed. 

“How are you, Tony?” 

Steve said after a few minutes of silence. Tony just sighed, tapping his fingers against his leg. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly after a while. 

Tony glanced out of him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Why are you sorry?” He asked

Steve turned fully to face him. He said nothing. Just looked at him. 

Both of them stood their ground. Unwilling to speak. Staring at each other. 

The elevator doors opened. Neither of them moved. 

“I believe this is your floor, Cap’.” 

Steve breathed in through his nose, looked at Tony a second longer, then walked out of the elevator. 

Tony let out a breath as the elevator doors closed. Then, it hitched when a hand shot in and grabbed both the doors to stop them from closing completely. Steve pushed the doors back open, and stood in the entryway. He looked a bit miserable. 

“What are you doing, Tony?” He asked. 

Tony blinked, surprised, then shrugged. He deflected, looking around the elevator walls and hit the side of his closed fist against his palm once. 

“I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” he said, looking at Steve again. 

Steve looked hurt for a second, then recovered himself. 

“So, what? You’re just going to lock yourself in your lab, your apartment, forever?” 

Tony stared hard at Steve. 

“Once again, none of your business.” 

The doors tried to close again. Steve pushed them open. 

“JARVIS, keep the damn doors open,” he declared loudly without taking his eyes off Tony. 

“Yes sir,” JARVIS responded. 

Tony rolled his eyes. 

“JARVIS, close the doors.” 

“Yes sir,” JARVIS responded, and immediately the doors started to close again. 

Steve shot his arms out and held the doors forcibly open. Tony watched with one eyebrow raised. 

Steve kept holding the doors open. Tony watched him blankly. 

“What exactly are you hoping to achieve here, Steve?” 

The doors opened again. Steve dropped his arms. 

“We should talk, Tony.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Steve.” 

“You and I both know-” 

Suddenly, Steve’s head whipped to the side, staring at something down the hall. Tony heard the clicking of heels, and rolled his eyes at his luck. Steve looked back over at him with sad, puppy eyes, then let the doors close when they did, allowing Tony’s great escape. 

Tony sighed as the elevator started going up again, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. He’d deal with everything later. Never do now what you can put off indefinitely. 

 

Peter walked into the room in casual clothes, backpack with spidey gear slung over his shoulder, and deposited it into a chair by a desk. 

The gang was all there, sitting around in chairs looking deep in thought. Steve glanced up as Peter walked in. 

“So,” he started, sitting up. “We know that the people Ghost is capturing are dead. We don’t really know anything else.” Steve stared at everyone in turn. 

Peter spoke up, 

“I think she has to ability to affect people’s emotions. Control them.” 

Natasha nodded. 

“According to what Dr. Sadana described anyway,” she said. 

“And what I’ve felt every time we’ve been anywhere near Ghost.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“What have you felt, Peter?” He asked. 

Peter grew quiet, realizing he hadn’t told any of them yet. He subconsciously started picking at his fingernails. 

“Honestly? Like I’m about to be fucking devoured.” 

 

The train station wasn’t that busy, surprisingly. Wade was waiting with Cayden in a halfway secluded area in the corner of the station, next to a janitor’s closet and a column. Cayden had just come back with a ticket. 

“Train leaves in fifteen minutes,” he said, hitting the ticken against his hand. 

“Go find your small town girl, Kevin.” 

Cayden snorted. 

Wade’s head was starting to hurt. Something throbbing at the base of his skull. He frowned, but ignored it. 

Cayden looked like he wanted to say something. Wade waited. A strange feeling was coming over him, like he was in a tank that was slowly being filled up with water. His feet felt cold. 

“I...thank you, Wade. For...you know,” Cayden trailed off. 

“Anytime, Kevin,” Wade replied in a slightly flat voice. His fingers twitched. 

Cayden looked away, not noticing anything different. He glanced over his shoulder towards where he would get on the getaway train. 

“You know I’ve thought about this almost my whole life,” he said. “I always used to daydream about getting on a train, and riding it a million miles away...I can’t really believe this is happening. That I’m actually getting out.” 

Wade’s head twitched. He was never alone in his head. It was rather crowded in that particular department. But for some reason he had the curious inkling that maybe someone left the door unlocked, and now they were all sitting on the couches in the living room with their throats slit. 

Wade swallowed. 

Cayden looked back at him. He smiled widely. A beam of happiness. 

Wade took a step forward, and reached out for him. 

He snapped his neck easily. 

_ Snap _ . 

 

Peter walked around Stark Tower. This whole mission was weird. Nobody knew what the fuck they were doing. Peter walked to one of the places he was most familiar. He didn’t expect Tony to be there. 

Peter stopped on the threshold of the lab, then stepped completely in before the door closed on him. 

Tony was standing across the lab, his back to the door. Peter saw him pause whatever he was doing. 

“If you want to chew me out, I’m pretty sure there’s a line,” he said without turning around. 

Peter stared at the back of his head for a long time. 

“I didn’t even think you were here,” he said finally, flatly. 

“Where’d you think I was?” 

“No clue. No one’s saying anything about you, Mr. Oz.” 

Tony snorted. 

“Can I interest you in some ruby red shoes?” 

“Well, you did drop a house on my life.” 

“Yep.” Tony popped the P. 

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. 

“I bet no one blames you for half the shit you blame yourself for,” Peter said. 

Tony’s shoulders tensed. He whipped around, crossing his arms and frowning furiously. 

“What the fuck do you people want from me?” 

“ _ I want you to do your fucking job, _ ” Peter hissed. 

Tony looked surprised. Peter clapped his hands. 

“Put on your fucking big boy pants, and come out to play with the other kids,” he said. He was fuming now. “I want you to pull your fucking shit together.” 

“I’m sorry I’m not your perfect fucking hero!” Tony yelled, throwing his hands up. 

Peter threw his arms up as well. 

“None of us are _fucking_ _heroes_!” Peter yelled back. He took a ragged breath. “You are the one,” he started, voice low, “who built this goddamn tower. You are the one, one of the _only_ ones of us, who _decided_ to be what you are.” 

Tony went to speak, Peter cut him off, voice rising. 

“You think we don’t want to curl up in fetal position and cry until we drown, Tony?!” Peter exclaimed. “You think we don’t want the bad dreams to go away?! You think we don’t lay in bed sometimes, not knowing if we can get up, not wanting to get up?! You think we don’t think about all the people we couldn’t save?!  _ You think we don’t feel guilty about how much we don’t want to do this? _ !” Peter was on the verge of screaming. He took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes and opening them again. Tony was staring them, anger written across his face. 

“We don’t get to shut down,” Peter said. “Because we made it our jobs, and you made it  _ my  _ job, to  _ protect  _ the people who need to shut down. Who are depressed, and hurting, and dying. No one cares about you, Tony Stark, they just want you to save their lives, and  _ that’s what you signed up for _ .” 

Peter pushed his hands through his hair. If Tony was going to speak, Peter didn’t let him. 

“Pull your  _ shit  _ together!” He said again, looking up again, their eyes meeting again. “Or at least fucking pretend to.” 

Silence. Then, 

“Real nice pep talk, Parker,” Tony said quietly. Still angry, still a hundred different things. Peter glared. 

“I don’t owe you anything.” 

“ _ I DON’T OWE  _ **_THEM_ ** _ ANYTHING!”  _

Peter flinched. 

Tony breathed hard. His eyes were wild. Then, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Peter stared at him flatly. 

“Shit, or get off the pot.” 

Tony looked up. 

“If you’re done, be  _ done _ . If you wanna break, make it clean. Don’t hide in your fucking tower and slip into catatonicness. You whine like there’s nothing you can do about your life.” 

Maybe, after a few minutes, maybe Tony might have responded. He would have stopped staring like he wanted to kill Peter. Like he wanted to melt into the floor at the same time. But the few minutes never passed, because Natasha and Clint ran into the lab. 

Peter and Tony whipped their heads to look at them. They seemed surprised to find them in a room together. 

Nat was the one who spoke. Looking directly and solely at Peter. 

“There’s a problem.” 

Clint cut in, 

“And he’s currently tearing downtown apart.” 

Peter grimaced. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ could it possibly be now?” 

 

Peter rushed along side Nat and Clint. Tony trailed behind them.  _ There’s a problem _ . Of course there was. Peter didn’t understand why they weren’t telling him what it was. They ran all the way to the conference room where footage from a security camera in downtown was being broadcasted holographically above the table. 

Peter froze.

“Wade?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right motherfuckers. That's right. 
> 
> I realize that this chapter was...a fucking roller coaster. Like, a lot of shit happened. I get that. There was a lot going on. Don't worry. It only gets worse.


	5. Spin 10 Fucking Beat Drops On The Praying Mantises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER FUCKING FIVE 
> 
> At the end of this installment, I'm going to determine how many times the word "fuck" (and variations of the word fuck in all its tenses) are used, and make it my new lucky number. 
> 
> I had no idea what to title this chapter, so above is the keyboard smash of the ideas I had before I gave up and decided to live fast, die young.

Peter understood that everyone had a breaking point. 

He had thought he had met his several times before. But he kept on getting back up. He kept going, kept superheroing around New York, and used his mask to cover the hurt on his face. We’re all only human. We’re not built to be gods. 

Peter understood Tony. That’s why he called him out. 

But there wasn’t time to think about that now, as Peter put on his suit faster than he ever had in his life. After seeing Wade on the live security footage, literally yank a woman from the shattered window of her car and throw her to the ground, Peter was working on pure instinct now. Thinking would come later. When everyone could sit the fuck down and have a drink. 

Peter was out of the tower in less than three minutes. Swinging from the buildings, heading for Wade. He imagined that the Avengers were probably right behind him, most likely in a car. But he didn’t care about them. 

Connections clicked in Peter’s head as the wind whipped past him. 

_ He had said he was living with Deadpool.  _

He was such a  _ fucking  _ idiot. 

And, if this  _ was  _ fucking  _ Ghost _ , and Ghost makes her zombie soldiers by fucking amplifying all their worst thoughts, that spelled  _ fuck  _ for Wade. Add to the fact that Wade can’t die. Add to the fact that this is a sociopathic fourth grader with gasoline and matches in an old church. 

Peter hoped he wasn’t the fucking matches. 

 

“ _ He’s on the next street to your left, Spiderman.” _

Peter heard Nat’s voice in his com. Peter did not feel like Spiderman. 

Peter swung around the corner onto it, and realized he had no plan. 

He flipped in the air, and landed on the ground. He stared down the street. There were four cop cars, a dozen cops hiding behind the doors, aiming weapons at Wade, who already had several bullet holes ripped through his suit. 

Peter felt it. That tingling, fucking  _ vibrating  _ feeling.  _ Ghost with the most here.   _

Wade was standing on the sidewalk, beating the shit out of some guy. 

“ _ Deadpool!”  _ Peter yelled as loud as he could, over the sirens. 

Wade’s head lifted. Peter didn’t know if it was because he recognized his title, or just because of the yelling itself. 

Peter stood frozen, halfway down the street. 

Wade grabbed the man by the throat, lifted him up, and delivered a punch that made the man go slack. Wade dropped him with no fanfare, and stepped out onto the street. 

The cops were watching the showdown show down.

Standing twenty yards away from each other, arms at their sides, Peter felt like he bought a movie ticket for Mamma Mia 2, went into the wrong theater and ended up seeing a shitty western. 

_ I wanna get off this ride.  _

Wade didn’t look like Wade. Even with his suit, everything about him was different. The way he  _ stood  _ was different. 

“Please, God, no,” Peter said quietly to himself. 

Wade took a step forward. Peter took one back. 

Then, Peter clenched his fists and stopped. Wade was starting to walk faster towards him. When Peter lunged, they both started running. 

For a split second, Peter could pretend that their surroundings were an airport. He was reuniting with a dearly missed lover. It was a reunion. But Peter doubted this slow-mo run-towards-each-other cliche would end in a spin hug, fall down on the floor,  _ kiss me ‘til I can’t breathe.  _

Wade raised his fist, drew his arm back. Peter mirrored him. They jumped. Thumbnail.

They collided with the drop of the bass. 

Peter had tried to punch Wade in the face, get his legs around his neck and twist until they fell to the ground and Peter could pin him. 

Wade had tried to get his hand around Peter’s throat and punch him with his other hand. 

In the end, they connected, and Peter landed his foot in Wade’s chest as the same time Wade wrapped his hand in a deathgrip around Peter’s throat. 

 

Wade had big hands. He could spread one over the entire expanse of Peter’s lower back.

On a lazy day with the late morning sun half-hidden behind half-closed curtains, Wade’s hands settled on Peter’s hips. Peter straddled him, hands on Wade’s shoulders, holding himself up. Peter smiled down at him, Wade winked like an asshole, and rolled his hips suggestively. Peter rolled his eyes, and collapsed on top of him. Wade put his hands on either side of Peter’s face, and lifted his head to drag his mouth up to kiss him. 

Peter kissed back, making a low noise into it. Wade’s hands spread over the expanse of Peter’s back. 

 

_ Spin me the fuck around, baby.  _

 

Peter twisted out of Wade’s hold on his neck, they both stumbled back, then lunged again, like magnets pulled together again as soon as they were pulled apart. Peter went to swing himself around Wade, arm around his neck, but Wade ducked under his arm, and elbowed Peter in the back. 

Once again, they did not pause once separated. They immediately turned around, and connected again. They were fighting sloppily. This was no contest of skill. This was limbs flying and praying. 

Peter didn’t know what he was praying for. 

_ You lack finesse. Zest. Pazazz.  _

Wade went for the linebacker tackle. Peter jumped, and planted both feet in Wade’s back, grabbing both handles of Wade’s still-sheathed katanas before pushing off, doing a flip in the air, and landing on the ground, holding both of the blades. 

Wade turned around again. He stared at Peter a moment. The first time they had paused since they had started fighting. 

Peter’s chest heaved. 

“Wade!” Peter called loudly. Trying to reach him. “Why are you doing this?!” 

Wade lunged again. 

Peter met him in the middle again. 

He thrust out with the katanas, meaning to impale Wade’s torso. Wade grabbed the blades instead, and pulled. His gloves were shredded, and blood started pouring out of his palms and over the blades. 

Peter’s eyes widened. Wade yanked him forward, yanking the katanas out to the sides as Peter fell into his chest. Wade headbutt him, foreheads connecting with a sickening noise. Peter stumbled back. 

His head throbbed. He looked up, vision slightly blurry. Wade dropped the katanas. They clattered on the ground. 

Peter stared at him, confused. 

_ Why would he drop the katanas?  _

“Kid!” 

Peter heard Steve’s voice. Peter glanced over his shoulder. Almost the whole gang was here. 

Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and even Iron Man. 

_ The prodigal son returns.  _

The four of them stood at the end of the street, along with four more police cars. They were herding civilians off the street, and putting up barricades. 

Peter had no more time to look. He turned around just in time to block Wade’s punch. Peter caught his fist, and didn’t let go. Wade tried to hit him with his other hand. Peter caught his wrist. 

They were locked, both pushing as hard as they could. Blood from Wade’s palms seeped from their joined hands, making the grip slippery. Peter felt blood dribble down his forehead, it got into his right eye, but Peter kept it open. Started blinking furiously. 

“ _ Fight me, motherfucker.”  _ Peter said through grit teeth. 

Wade grunted, started bending his knees more, and Peter kept with him. If he could lean down quickly enough, he could throw Wade over his shoulder. He imagined that Wade was thinking the same thing. It was just a matter of who could throw who first. 

Maybe it was because Peter really didn’t want to hurt Wade. Because his heart was aching, and because blood, sweat, and tears were literally clouding his vision. He got thrown. 

But he didn’t hit the ground. Nope. Instead, he was back to back with Wade, only his feet weren’t touching the ground, and Wade’s forearm was cutting off his breathing, pinning him in place. 

Peter gasped, clawing at Wade’s arm. He struggled, and his body slid to the side. Wade was in a crouch, other hand firmly planted on the ground. The top of Peter’s head was pressed against the nape of Wade’s neck. Peter pushed off the ground as hard as he could with his feet, but Wade didn’t budge. Peter reached back, trying to find Wade’s face or neck or  _ something _ . His vision was going black. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

Peter coughed as he was suddenly let go, falling to his hands and knees. He froze. Wade’s arm laid right in front of him. His  _ whole  _ goddamn arm, shoulder to fucking middle finger. It was the only thing Peter’s blurry, fuzzy vision could focus on. 

He was aware of hearing fighting behind him. But he was still struggling to breathe. Peter looked over his shoulder, swallowing thickly and ignoring the pain in his neck. 

Wade was pinned down by Captain America’s shield, Steve’s whole body weight against it, keeping him on the ground. Wade thrashed, but his free arm was held down by Black Widow stepping on his forearm. 

Nat aimed a gun at Wade’s head. Peter didn’t have time to close his eyes before she pulled the trigger. His ears rang. Wade went still. 

A perfect bullet hole in the center of Wade’s mask, between his eyes. Blood seeped out of it. 

Peter stared. Wade’s finger twitched. Nat pulled the trigger again. 

Peter collapsed on the ground and buried his face in the crook of his arm. 

 

Someone helped him up. It was Tony. Peter wrenched his arm away from the metal encased hand grabbing his arm, and walked of his own accord. Clint had pulled the armored van up. Peter heard them loading Wade into it behind him, but he didn’t turn around. 

Peter sniffed instead. His breaths were coming faster, shallower, hurting his sore throat. He coughed. 

You know that scene from  _ 10 Things I Hate About You _ , the end, you feel? With the crying, and the poem, and the vulnerability. 

Peter shot a web, more out of spidey sense taking over than actual deliberation. Peter’s body was yanked up, and he swung building to building, as fast as he could. 

  1. I hate how you wear socks with sandals. 



Peter couldn’t see anything. His vision was blurred because he was bleeding, remember? He didn’t need to see anything, though. 

  1. I hate how you yell at the TV. 



A choked sob wrenched itself from Peter’s throat. Peter clamped his mouth shut. 

  1. I hate how you sing in the shower, and in the car, and in the kitchen, and anytime. 



Peter shut out sound. Shut out everything. He kept shooting webs, kept swinging, letting instincts pull him wherever he was going. Fuckall if he was in control here. 

  1. I hate how you make references that make no goddamn sense. 
  2. I hate how it’s rubbed off on me. 
  3. I hate how you look at me, like you can’t believe I’m real. 



Peter wanted to rip his fucking mask off. He wanted to stop. He wanted to break. He wanted to cry.  _ Not yet. Skeet skeet, vroom vroom, gotta go fast.  _

  1. I hate it when you laugh. 



Peter wasn’t aware of how he might have looked, bounding through the air like a ragdoll. Fuck.

  1. I hate it when you kiss me. 



Something in Peter was slowing down. Like his nervous system had been a race track, and the car that had been speeding around was running out of gas.  _ Badumpbadumpbadumpbadump. _

  1. I hate you when you hate yourself. 



Peter shot one last web, yanked himself upward, flew threw the air, then landed hard on his hands and knees on top of a building. Peter yanked his mask off his head, blood immediately dripped down onto the gravel. Great, big, fat drips, falling quick, staining gray, red. But Peter couldn’t see that, because Peter’s eyes were squeezed so tightly shut, it hurt. But not as bad as the blood in his eyes. A thin stream of it ran down the tip of his nose. Peter let out a choked sob. 

  1. I hate that you made me love you so goddamn much. 



Peter shed the top half of his suit pulling it off, letting it hang off his waist and lay on the ground. Peter scrubbed at his eyes. Crying aided his endeavour. How nice. 

Peter scrubbed until he could blink, and see. He slowly stood up, and pushed his arms back into his suit, putting it back on. He picked up his mask, shook it and some blood splattered across more gravel. 

Peter sniffed, and walked over to the edge of the building. 

He was on top of his fucking apartment building. 

Peter didn’t look down. Not when there was a chance of him seeing the window that lead into their bedroom, their living room. 

He was acting like Wade had fucking died. Nah, this was fucking worse. 

He had fought Wade. And he hadn’t fucking won. 

  
  


Peter descended in the elevator alone. He had taken the time to rub the blood out of his eye. Press some toilet paper to the cut as it stopped bleeding. Now, he held his mask limply in his right hand at his side. He stared at the floor. 

The elevator doors opened. 

He stepped out into a harshly white hall. The kind of fake light you only get when you’re underground. Peter sniffed, and started a slow trail down the hall. 

He walked until he came to the only door with a guard standing outside it. There was a large window beside the door, like an observation window. It started at about Peter’s waist, and went up higher than his head. 

Peter stepped forward and stood in front of it. 

The room was empty, with Wade sitting on the floor, knees partially drawn up with his elbows resting on them (his arm was back), his head downcast. He was in sweats with the hood up. 

Peter’s heart was no longer in his body. It was in a fucking puddle on the floor, and not the fucking good kind. 

He swore too much when he was upset. 

After a second, Wade lifted his head slightly, like he sensed that someone was watching him. Their eyes met. Peter’s breath hitched. 

Wade’s eyes flicked up to the small, square bandage on the crown of Peter’s head, then he looked back down at the floor. 

There was no way to tell what was going through his head. 

_ What else is new?  _

Peter had actively avoided anyone when he had entered the tower through the window, courtesy of JARVIS. He found a bathroom, then JARVIS told him where they were “holding”  _ Dope Ass Fresh Prince  _ A.K.A Wade. 

Peter stayed silent for a moment. Then, he wet his lips. 

“Wade?” 

Wade didn’t move. Showed no sign of having heard him. 

“Friendly, neighborhood, mercenary guy?” Peter half-smiled halfheartedly. “Slides to my Gucci, hello?” 

Wade’s eyes lifted again. Peter’s stomach dropped. 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Wade lifted himself up off the floor. He walked across the room with his shoulders hunched forward slightly, face half hidden by the hoodie. He walked right up to the window. 

Peter stared up at him. The expression was  _ “Fear gripped him _ ”, but that wasn’t what Peter felt. No, he felt Fear slither down his throat. Pour into his stomach like molten silver, and harden there. 

Wade’s eyes weren’t his.

So, Ghost still had him. 

Peter closed his mouth, swallowed, didn’t break eye contact. His expression hardened. 

“I’m gonna get you back,” he said. Promised, trying to look past the expression Wade currently held, and find the man he loved. “Swear to God, I’ll get you back.” 

“Where did I go?” 

Peter flinched. He hadn’t expected him to speak. 

_ It’s….ALLLIIIIVVVVVEEEE!!! _

Thunder crack, lighting strike, end scene, muted scream. 

Peter turned back to Wade. Wade had his hand up on the glass. The gash was completely gone, leaving the scarred skin the way it had always been as long as Peter’d known him. 

“Wade?” Peter said again after a second. A muscle in Wade’s cheek twitched. 

Wade slammed his hand once against the glass, causing Peter to jump, heart rate spiking. His spider senses hadn't even caught it before it happened. Peter swallowed again. 

“Come on, baby boy, tell me everything’s gonna be alright.” 

Peter stared in horror. Something cold dripped down Peter’s spine.  _ This isn’t how this is supposed to go.  _

“Come on, baby boy. Baby spider. Come on, baby boy. You don’t have to be scared.  _ I’m not gonna hurt ya _ .  _ You didn’t let me finish my sentence.  _ I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m just gonna bash your brains in. I’m gonna bash ’em the  _ fuck  _ in.” 

Peter was frozen. His and Wade’s eyes were locked. Wade’s were pouring into his with malice, and fear, and hate, all glazed over with a type of blankness Peter associated with kid’s who’ve just seen their parents die, and people who’ve just seen a building collapse, and dogs you find on streets in Argentina. 

Wade’s chest moved up and down, breathing in and out. Peter felt tears gathering in the back of his throat. Wade’s hand stayed on the glass. 

Peter was afraid. Afraid of the man in front of him, afraid that he may never stop being afraid. 

“ _ I’m right here, Peter.”  _

Peter shoved away from the window, and started down the hall. 

“ _ Don’t ya want your boat, Georgie!?”  _

Peter’s ears rang. He started sprinting. 

 

He hurried out of the elevator. Walked fast into the hall. Turned, punched the wall. Hole, right through, office on the other side.  _ Hello, Ma’am.  _ Spiderweb cracks splintered around the hole his fist had created. He walked on past it. 

Okay. Okay. Okay.  _ Okay.  _

What had he told Tony earlier? 

_ Shit or get off the pot.  _

Right. Yep. Totally not crumbling. Nope. Where’s the crazy glue? 

_ Glitter glue.  _

Peter sniffed. Shoved pesky flies away, and kept on walking. 

Keepin’ it together. 

_ We’re all in this tooogetherrrr.  _

God, he really was turning into Wade. 

Peter sniffed. Shoved pesky flies away, and kept on walking. 

_ If ever you start to crumble, let the pieces crush your enemies.  _

 

When preying mantis’ fuck, the female eats the male. Peter wondered if praying mantis’ (manti? Mantises?) ever had homosexual tendencies, and if they did, did females eat each other? Did males just have a good time? Regardless, it seemed hardcore as fuck to be a praying mantis. 

None of this information is important, but important information is relative. 

For instance, instead of that praying mantis ramble, Peter could have dwelled on the absolutely shit show that had just gone down. 

Not the one where he fought his boyfriend in the street, nah, that was old news. 

Shit moves fast when your fucking with freaks. 

Peter could say that - he was, indeed, also a freak. 

Peter bet Ghost nibbled on her sexual partners. 

Peter wasn’t entirely sure how he had gotten here. He could say that he followed the music. He received a message from God. He was lead by the spirit of Uncle Ben. Lo the Angel Gabriel appeared before him and told him he was carrying the Messiah. A white rabbit ran through a garden, and his curious nature got the better of him. There was a flash of light, numbers in the sky, he bought a lotto ticket in New Mexico...take your pick as to why he was swinging from the buildings, a regular Tarzan Takes Manhattan. Something inside him seemed to know where it was going. 

He realized after a few city blocks, that he was following the fear. 

The sick feeling growing in his stomach, the vibrating at the ends of his toes, his fingertips, becoming violent. He could  _ hear  _ it. 

Peter swallowed. He let himself be carried. 

It would have been quite relaxing, if not for Satan crawling his slimy way up his asshole. Like a rockabye baby on the tree top. 

Peter shut everything else out. 

He landed hard on his feet. 

He opened his eyes. 

A house. A vacant house. A rather nice vacant house. 

Peter took a deep breath. He reached up, and pressed the button on the calm in his mask. 

It took a few moments before anyone answered. 

“ _ Peter?”  _

“I found Ghost.” 

Peter took his hand off the com. He knew they had a tracker in it. 

He stared up at the house. 

_ It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This is lazy writing. This isn’t plot. This is convenience.  _

Ah, but whose? 

He imagined a metal contraption. A chastity belt for your ribcage.  _ That’s a fucking corset, you dumb fuck.  _ Nah, but listen...Yeah, you right. So, he imagined an ironed corset, sheathed inside his skin, right up against all his squishy, bloody, juicy bits. His heart was slowing down. He could feel it, hear it. Like a slow-mo moment. He panned his eyes over the house like they were a camera, and this was a Highly Cinematic drama movie. 

It seemed like a weird place for Ghost to be. 

It was no dungeon, no sewer, no abandoned underground train station. It wasn’t a lair, it was just a large house with tarps over the windows and a broken lock on the front door. Peter could feel her inside like he felt her in that warehouse. 

A house that with a little TLC could be put on the cover of a nice, Lifestyle magazine was hardly the setting you put in the same sentence as  _ belly of the beast.  _

He started across the yard. No one ever shows the walking across the yard part, but it happens. And during the journey across the mostly dead, overgrown grass, you spend the entire time pushing away fear, holding on to anger and adrenaline, trying to work out what the fuck you’re going to do when you reach your destination. 

For Peter, he thought about Wade. With his arm around his throat, with his hands sliced open, with his gait not even the same. Warped by Ghost. 

Peter stood in front of the front door. Debated for a moment, then just decided to open it. 

_ Excuse me, sir, what makes you think you can defeat the Boss now?  _

Peter shoved the thought aside, and walked into the foyer. 

The house was completely empty. Peter knew it was completely empty without even having to see the rest of it. 

_ Is this it? Is this where it happens? Is this where the beat drops, the cymbals clash, the camera pans out, stare hardens, all the shit, blood, gore...it all leads up to this? Really?  _

It seemed unsatisfying. It seemed there was no buildup to this avalanche. Where was the squirrel with the nut? 

There was a stairwell in the foyer, off to the left. Peter stared up it. Then, Ghost appeared at the top. She smiled down at him, eyes flashing pure white. 

“I always liked spiders,” she said. 

Peter, for once in his goddamn life, could not think of anything witty to say.

But how about those praying mantises? 

 

Peter was...smart? He was  _ intelligent _ . There we go, yeah...he was intelligent. He could do the do, work the work, make the...things. 

He also thought himself to be pretty good at compartmentalizing. He knew how to do his job. 

He thought a lot of things. Always had it has a possibility in his head that friends may betray him, he may have to do some hard shit, he may have some shit happen. There were going to be dark, twisted days in this dark, twisted world. 

But this whole thing with Ghost? His teeth weren’t on edge, they had jumped off the fucking bridge. 

Peter knew how to ramble his way around a situation in his head. 

Case in point. 

He flew through the window. Except, he didn’t really fly. Because that was never on his list of not-normal abilities. He  _ wished  _ he had flown out the window. No, he was  _ thrown  _ out the window. He crashed through it with the sound of splintering sanity, and managed to throw a web out at the roof of the house  _ just  _ in time. He caught himself, swung himself up, flipped in the air, landed on his feet. 

He was  _ beat for the gods.  _ But less in the Kylie Jenner, Anastasia Beverly Hills, James Charles sort of way, and more in the ‘ _ please take me to the hospital. _ ’ kind of way. 

Behind him, a van pulled up the street. Speeding  _ awfully  _ fast. He skirted to the curb outside the house. The Avengers all popped out like pus from a zit. 

“ _ Peter, what the hell?!  _ You  _ engaged _ ?!” Steve exclaimed, running over. 

Peter waved his hand dismally. 

“ _ Nah… _ ” 

“Where’s Ghost?!” Steve shouted, eyes flashing all over the house, poised to fight. 

“Inside,” Peter replied, chest heaving, slightly hunched over. 

_ I don’t care that you broke your fucking elbow.  _

The rest of the Avengers sans Nat were around them now. 

“What are we doing? What’s the plan?” Clint asked quickly. Steve glanced furtively at Tony, across the prayer circle. 

“The plan...is…” Steve started. His eyes searched the ground, the sky, looking for the plan. Then, his jaw set. His eyebrows narrowed. Yes. They narrowed. Steve looked back at everybody, and the National Anthem began to play in the background. 

“Here’s the plan.” 

 

_ There’s something wrong in The Village.  _

Wade knew something was wrong. Felt it like a tick behind his ear. He jerked his head, trying to dislodge it. Wouldn’t go. 

See, like, the thing I can’t get behind, though, is this fuzzy feeling in my head. Someone must have painted the insides with gasoline. 

See, like, I can remember...things. Yeah. 

Wade thought. 

_ You don’t play with fire unless you wanna get burned, wanna get burned.  _

Wade had never felt so lonely in his own head for a long time. The feeling was refreshing as it was unsettling. See, for as long as he could remember (as he was a piping hot tortilla bowl of lasagna, that is) he had had little devils on his shoulders, and they lived in the space between his ears. 

_ Where did they come from? Where did they go?  _

Wade slowly raised his hands to rest on either side of his head. 

There was this thing in his throat, and it stretched like that slime you make from glue and Borax down to his stomach and expanded and made it feel like he was hollow. 

_ He could remember.  _ And that was the problem. 

Because every pin prick pain he had ever experienced was alight on his skin. Not really, but in memory. Because the lines between the fourth wall, the eighth wall,  _ hell _ , even the  _ sixteenth  _ wall was...blurry. 

For some terrifying moments of his life, he thought maybe this might all be real. 

Wade breathed. 

There were things he was forgetting, though. 

_ What was it again?  _

He didn’t have the boxes to remind him. Insult him. Bear with him. Was it the boxes? 

_ Where did he come from? Where did he go?  _

Wade wanted to give himself a machete hackjob. Just real quick, just to try and remember what he was forgetting and forget what he was remembering and maybe try to figure out when his unbirthday was. 

Wade’s skin was the consistency of…something with a really rough, porous texture. He picked at it. 

Wade could feel the pain in his asshole. He clenched subconsciously. Could feel the pain behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut tightly. Could remember hard voices, attacking him from all angles.  _ Real  _ voices, the worst kind. But not now voices. There were no voices right now. But real voices, once remembered, always sound even worse than they had when they had  _ really  _ been spat. 

Wade shook his head violently. 

Snap. 

_ The tone was all wrong.  _

Click your goddamn fingers, blink, just for a second. Go on, shut your goddamn eyes. Clear your godforsaken pornography filled mind. Now open ‘em up. Spread ‘em. Your eyelids, he means. 

Imagine...a darkened cell of sorts. There aren’t bars, but there kind of are. The concrete floor is dirty, stained, but  _ aesthetically  _ so. Wade is...curled in the center. Fetal position. Gray sweatpants and hoodie, hood pulled up around his face, no shoes. You never knew such a relatively large man could look so small. 

He thinks of dark, twisted things. Like dead butterflies, and peeling the skin back from slit wrists, and the push and pull of smoke from a cigarette, and the recoil of a large gun, and horror movie monsters nibbling on his organs while he’s still awake in a dirty, motel bathtub, and...compressed spray bottles filled with semen flecked blood, and rats chewing on eyelids, and having a piece of rebar impale your thigh, and chewing ASMR videos. 

The air is stagnant. The one caged light casts only shadows. A low hum in Wade’s head keeps it from being absolutely silent. There are stuff, there are things.  _ Lori.  _ Fuck. 

_ This is sadder than Place de la République.  _

This is The Dismemberment Song. 

This is i wanna be your girlfriend. 

This is Burned. 

This is Sparta. 

This is The Disney Channel. 

This is the shit. 

This is America. 

This is the beat slowing down at the end of a song. 

This is The End. 

_ But maybe it’s Maybelline.  _

Wade clutched his wrists to his chest, his hands curling under his chin. He heard noises. Real noises. Like a door opening. Like people coming in. 

Wade could spin this the fuck around however he wanted. He could think to himself that the things above him were faceless monsters, and thus they would be so. 

But names came to mind as faces of heroes invaded his sight, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning up to bite. 

_ But how ‘bout those praying manti?  _


	6. Don't Hold This Against Me Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing: THE LAST CHAPTER OF THIS INSTALLMENT! 
> 
> But fear not, for this is not the end. The next installment (Part V) will deal with the aftermath of all this, and will contain a lot more Spideypool angst and fluff.

Peter thought it couldn’t be possible that just this morning he had been in the apartment with Wade, about to have a normal-as-it-got day. 

One day. Seven people were dead. A woman jumped out of a window. Wade had been...compromised. Tony Stark rose from his grave.  _ And a partridge in a pear tree.  _

The funniest part of this entire ordeal was that the world was not ending. This was no grand orchestra production with holy, auditioned choir of 187 members suspended from the ceiling and bellowing their melodious hymns with clear, confident voices. This was a shitty stage in a back alley club. One lonely light on a lonelier singer with no mic, only long sleeves to cover cut scars and a chip on their shoulder. 

Seven people were dead. And the sun had set with no significance. The build up was nonexistent. The heart monitor was emitting a strong, steady  _ beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.  _ The white noise sound of nothing, the space between 0 and 1, a friendly fuck between two people who do not catch feelings for each other. 

The villain did not destroy with teeth, or claws, or weapons of mass destruction. Our Big Bad seeped into minds, rooted inside, and forced out everything that kept them wanting to be alive. 

The Target had no known weaknesses. No special sauce to quench their life. 

_ I heard her Soul is so Unclean // Pure water will Melt Her.  _

_ What?!  _ _  
_ _ Melt Her!  _

_ Please, somebody go and melt her. _

Tony blasted a hole in Ghost’s torso. Large, gaping, cookie cutter cutout. Stick your hand through, wave your fingers around. 

_ Brand new flash diet by Tony Stark.  _

Peter’s chest heaved. They stood in the demolished backyard of the house. 

Imagine their surprise when Ghost’s body crumpled to the singed grass. 

Steve was already standing right next to the body. He had been fighting her; a distraction. Tony walked forward until they both stood over her, looking down. Peter held his side, and stared. 

A broken cherub laid on the ground somewhere, it’s chubby face pressed into the dirt. Bruce ran out from the backdoor. He had stayed by the van on standby for the duration of the fight. Now, he promptly dropped to his knees beside Clint, who was sprawled out on his back on the porch. He checked his pulse, and then started checking for injuries. 

 

_ “Where’s Black Widow?”  _ Peter had asked when they were still standing out in the yard, Steve starting to tell them the plan. Steve paused, and shifted. Peter flicked his eyes to Clint, who had a hard look in his eye. 

“ _ Next door neighbors with your boyfriend,”  _ Tony answered for him. 

Peter blinked. 

“ _ Oh.”  _

 

Peter breathed out through his nose. Looked back at Ghost. 

It had been too easy. 

Though it really hadn’t. It was almost pitch black in the thoroughly destroyed backyard, and Clint looked like he was in for a bit of rehab. Peter had managed to get his side fucked up. Cap’s head was bleeding, and he was holding his hand up gingerly by his chest. Peter wondered if it was broken. 

But, staring at the body with it’s new gaping hole in the chest, it seemed too easy. They hadn’t expected her to just die like that. Tony raised his hand again, and fired another beam into the body, just to make sure. It twitched, but nothing else. Peter felt like the wave had broken before it had reached full height. A car crashing before you could even lay on your horn. A heart attack in a twenty one year old. 

Peter stayed put. The drum inside him not finished with it’s act, though the pressure on his chest had relaxed, like an energy in the air that had previously been great was now diminished. Diminishing.

One thought raced around Peter’s head. It laid still in a lounge chair, hands folded over it’s stomach, staring apathetically up at the ceiling. 

_ This doesn’t make any sense.  _

“She’s dead,” Steve said with a strange tone, slowly lowering his shield still held in one hand. It seemed he too was slightly confused. 

The bottom of Peter’s stomach dropped like the floor of a faulty elevator. 

_ She’s always dead.  _

_ She never really needed that body, did she?  _

_ This was never about her.  _

The house wasn’t the climax. Was not the avalanche. Not the Boss Fight. Not the finale, the victorious win, the aching defeat. The music did not start or stop; it remained stagnant between notes. 

This was a hollow body. 

Slowly, the feeling in Peter dissipated. Not because Ghost was gone for good, but because she was gone for now. Left them. Wandered off. 

This makes perfect sense. 

 

They rode in the van. Just a couple of dudes with a body wrapped in a tarp on the floor by their feet. Peter’s body rocked with the movements of the van. 

Clint was awake. Sitting up, looking exhausted. Peter stared at him. It seemed strange to Peter that Ghost should infect Natasha. Peter threw a glance at Tony, sitting across from them. Seemed a better choice, if Ghost did prey on the mentally ill. Even Steve, or definitely Bruce seemed juicier in the category of mental unwellness. But Peter guessed the reason didn’t really matter anymore.

He was worried they’d get back and Wade--and he guessed Nat now--would be the same. That nothing changed. Even though Peter felt like Ghost had released some sort of hold she had held, Peter was still anxious. His feelings pertaining to Ghost weren’t exactly stable, or easily understandable. 

Peter wondered if he should speak up. Tell the others he didn’t think Ghost was dead. He flicked his eyes over the back of Steve’s and Bruce’s heads in the front seats. 

_ Peter felt like Ghost was gone.  _

Just not  _ RIP _ , sobbing wife over the casket, flaming arrow ignites viking boat, eternal resting place gone. Not dead. Not for good. 

Peter leaned his head back against the wall of the van, and closed his eyes. 

 

The heroes returned from their mighty battle, only it wasn’t really a mighty battle at all, and they didn’t have the dripping yellow glow of the sun setting on the day to paint them in shiny gold heroism. The sun had set a couple hours ago. It left them behind. The hours of the day didn’t give a shit about them. 

So instead: Peter, Tony, Steve, Bruce, Clint, and a body walked into Stark Tower. Well, the body didn’t walk. It was carried.

Bruce and Tony immediately disappeared with the body. Clint stalked off somewhere. Peter and Steve stood in a hallway. Peter’s side still hurt. He remembered for the first time that day that he needed to fucking eat. He stared straight ahead. Down to where an elevator that could take him to the sublevel was. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him. He pulled off his mask. 

“Do you think they’re them?” Peter asked, voice slightly hoarse. 

Steve winced. 

“I guess we’ll only know if we go downstairs.” 

Peter nodded absently, and walked slowly. 

He told himself everything would be alright. Told himself he’d get to Wade’s cell, and Wade would be okay. Wade would be  _ Wade _ . And, it’d be hard for a while. There would be...things to work through. Conversations to have, nightmares to thrash around to...but they’d be Wade and Peter, and they’d curl up in bed, and cry in the shower, and eat a lot of ice cream, and talk until it didn’t hurt so much. Peter would force Wade to be okay. He’d force him to open up, not go into self destruct. Peter didn’t care if all Wade wanted to do was close himself up and die until he was too lazy to. Peter wouldn’t let him. Peter needed him. 

He was stone faced as he stepped out of the elevator, Steve on his heel. Clint wasn’t there yet. Peter walked down to Wade’s cell, but the guard was gone. The room was empty. 

Peter spun on his heel and raised his eyebrows at Steve, looking at him fiercely. 

“Where is he?!” Peter demanded. 

Steve raised his hands placatingly, leaning forward to peek into the cell himself. 

“I don’t know,” he said softly. 

Peter stalked past him and back to the elevator. 

“JARVIS!” He snapped. 

“Yes sir?” 

“Wade,” Peter demanded. 

“He was taken to the medical floor.” 

“Why?” Peter asked as he got back onto the elevator, Steve following close behind. 

“A change in his condition.” 

“What change?” 

“It appears he has woken up.” 

Peter nearly dropped to his knees and praised a God he didn’t believe in. 

 

Wade was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, his back to the room. Nat was also in a hospital bed on the other side of the room. Clint was leaning down next to her. 

Steve stayed behind, and Peter cautiously approached Wade’s bed. He walked around, standing directly in front of the man. Wade slowly looked up. Their eyes met. Wade’s eyes looked like him again, but they were watery. 

“ _ Hi _ ,” Wade said weakly, voice breaking on the small word. 

Peter kneeled down on the floor in front of him, slowly raising his hands up to rest on Wade’s knees. 

“Hi,” Peter replied. 

Wade sniffed, turned his head away. His hands remained folded in his lap. 

“I’m sorry,” Wade said, not looking at Peter. 

Peter breathed in deeply through his nose. He smoothed his hands over Wade’s thighs and took his hands. Wade looked back down at him, jaw clenched, the tears welling in his eyes threatening to spill over. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Wade,” Peter said, rubbing his thumbs in little circles across the back of Wade’s hands. Wade nodded, but choked. 

“I killed Kevin.” 

Peter arched an eyebrow. 

“Who’s Kevin, Wade?” Peter inquired a bit urgently. 

Wade sniffed, dropping his head, staring at their hands. 

“ _ Cayden _ ,” Wade said weakly. 

Peter moved his hands up Wade’s arms, over his shoulders, and finally cupped his face, making Wade look at him. 

“ _ You weren’t you _ ,” Peter said, looking directly into his eyes. 

Wade finally raised a hand, and gently cupped the side of Peter’s face. Peter leaned into it, and kissed his palm. 

“But I remember it,” Wade said. His eyes were dark, downcast, staring at Peter’s chin rather then his eyes. “He just wanted to get away…” 

Peter winced. Wade’s eye flicked up to meet his. 

“I almost killed you,” Wade said. 

Peter shook his head. 

“No, Wade, you didn’t.” Peter said immediately. He leaned up urgently, pressing his forehead against Wade’s. “You didn’t. I’m  _ fine _ .” 

Peter wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck, and the man buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck. Wade wrapped his arms around Peter tightly, holding him up from the floor. 

“I love you,” Wade said, voice muffled. “I’m sor-I love you.” 

Peter sucked in a deep breath. 

“I know, Wade. It’s okay,” Peter said against his skin. “It’s okay, I’m sorry--I’m so sorry, Wade--It’s okay…”

 

“Do you think she’s really gone?” 

Tony looked up at Bruce, who stood over the mangled body laid out on one of the tables. 

Tony set down his tablet, and shrugged. 

“I think she’s gone for now.”    
Bruce hummed. 

“Kid knows it, too,” Tony said. 

“Why do you think they were connected?” Bruce inquired, moving around the table and leaning against it, facing Tony. 

Tony shrugged again and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Maybe just a fluke. Peter’s senses just happen to be attuned to Ghost.” 

Bruce ran his tongue over his teeth. 

“Why didn’t he tell us?” 

Tony dropped his arms, and started fiddling with the tools on the desk again. 

“Who knows. Maybe he knew she was done for now. Maybe he just doesn’t trust us anymore.” 

Bruce snorted. 

Tony ignored him. 

None of them could really explain how they knew Ghost was no longer an active threat. Maybe they all felt it when she dropped dead. Maybe they were all crazy. Maybe they were all under the effects of Ghost and would never realize it. 

“What are you going to do now, Tony?” Bruce asked after several silent moments. 

Tony didn’t look up at him for a long time. Then, he glanced up. 

“My job.” 

He looked past Bruce and down at the body; walked over to the table as well. Bruce stepped forward and turned around, they both looked down at the body that wasn’t really Ghost. At least not anymore.  

“Who do you think she is?” Tony asked. 

Bruce turned, and grabbed a tablet off the counter. He swiped up. 

“Louisa Bourdain. 11th grader from Buenos Aires, Argentina.” 

“This wasn’t a win,” Tony said. 

“No,” Bruce agreed. “Not even a little bit.” 

“eight people are dead.” 

“Yes,” Bruce replied. He paused. “Are we going to tell the public what really happened?” 

Tony shrugged, then stopped himself. He closed his eyes, and ran his hand over his face. 

“No. But I doubt they’ll ask.” 

“Eight  suicides in a day and you think no one will ask?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

Tony looked back down at the body, and didn’t respond. He took a deep breath through his nose, and turned around. He walked out of the lab. 

Bruce turned his eyes back to the dead young girl. They’d look further into the girl later. They’d look further into everything later. 

“JARVIS, turn off the lights. Keep the room chilled,” Bruce called out, not looking away from the body until the room became too dark to see it at all. 

 

Wade stood in the bathroom, holding his suit in his hands, completely naked. His head was still fuzzy. Hurt like a pushed on bruise. He remember breaking Cayden’s neck like it was nothing. It  _ was  _ nothing. Remember ripping that lady out of her car, remembered pummeling that man. Remember throwing Peter over him, getting him in a headlock and choking him for almost too long. 

**At least we have each other.**

“Shut the fuck up you piece of shitty ass flaming fucking garbage cunt motherfucker.” 

_ Someone’s touchy. Didn’t you miss us?  _

Wade threw his suit down as hard as he could, and threw his fist into the mirror. The shattered glass rained down over the sink, which Wade slammed his hands down on as hard as he could until the porcelain cracked. He turned, and kicked the wall before bracing his arms against it, leaning his head against them. He breathed harshly through his nose, hands clenched into fists, every muscle in his body tense. 

Someone knocked hard on the door. 

“ _ Wade?”  _

Peter asked, worry in his voice. 

Wade closed his eyes, breathing in and out deeply. It was like the goddamn Nom Nom Nom Nom Nom Nom Nom song was playing over, and over, and over in his head. Covering up everything else, but everything else was still controlling what he was doing, and everything else was telling him to kick the shit out of  _ everything else _ . 

That’s what it had felt like. And Wade wasn’t sure it had stopped. 

He heard Peter trying to turn the doorknob. 

“ _ Please open the door.”  _

Wade stayed where he was. Peter said nothing for a few seconds, waiting; then: 

“ _ Do you wanna build a snowman?”  _

Peter sounded like he was about to cry. 

Wade let out a shaky breath, almost like a laugh. 

_ Matchin’ the gas tank. Boom, boom.  _

Wade sunk to the floor, still facing the wall, and buried his face in his drawn up knees. 

_ I’m sorry.  _

**Sorry’s not gonna cut it.**

Wade flinched. 

 

Tony sat in his spinny desk chair, feet up on the desk, drinking whiskey out of the bottle. 

“You look miserable,” 

Tony looked up. The light pouring in from the hall illuminated Steve Rogers, ever the perfect postured America man--if a little droopy at the moment--, taking up most of the doorframe. 

Steve walked in, and JARVIS raised the lights as he did so. Steve’s hand and wrist were bandaged, as well as the cut on his head. But he looked clean. Showered. Tony had yet to do any of that. He had just gotten out of the suit, inspected the body, then come here to...bask in depression. 

“Don’t worry. I feel worse than I look,” Tony responded with a snort, and took another sip from his bottle. 

Steve came around the desk and sat on the edge of it, dangerously close if their previous mandatory distance of at least one elevator length length was anything to go by. 

“You look tired,” Tony acknowledged. 

Steve hummed. 

He slowly leaned forward, giving Tony plenty of time to jerk away. He didn’t. So, Steve put a hand on Tony’s cheek, and closed the distance between them. 

He kissed him softly. It tasted like a dish your mom used to make, but you haven’t had it in a while, so when you finally do again it takes a moment to remember the flavors. The consistency. The amount of time it takes to cool off. 

Tony kissed back. Hesitantly at first, then firmly. 

Steve pulled back, let his hand trail over Tony’s cheek. Tony stared after him. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Looking for a nightcap, Cap’?” 

Steve chortled slightly, looking down at the carpet. 

“No,” he answered. 

Tony said nothing. 

Steve stood up. He brushed his hands over his jeans. 

“Don’t hold this against me later,” Tony said, glaring. 

Steve snorted, already walking around the desk. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

He walked towards the door. JARVIS already started to lower the lights. 

“Get some rest, Tony!” Steve called, not turned around as he walked through the open door. 

He heard Tony’s sardonic snort, and couldn’t help but smile slightly to himself, albeit a bit sadly. A bit tiredly. He headed for the elevator. 

Tony raised the bottle up to his mouth. Stopped. Pressed his fingers lightly against his lips instead. Then, he shook his head, and took a swig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I'm actually so excited that I finished this shit. I really like this fucking installment, y'all. I struggled a bit chapters 4-6 because...I didn't plan any of this shit. But I'm 100% positive you already knew that, because I'm sure it's obvious as FUCK. 
> 
> But yeah, I'm pretty fucking happy with this. Thank you so much for reading and I hope I made you smile at least a lil' bit. Thanks so much all you lovely human beings! 
> 
> And, I always forget to say this: I have a tumblr: insidious-now

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, first chapter is done! I really just wanted to get this bitch up. Most of the plot is hashed out, so we've got that going. 
> 
> Formatting fucked me in the ass again, but I fixed it. You're welcome. Fuck Hemingway Editor. (but not rly bby ily)
> 
> If you have any questions, comments, or criticisms, I thrive off that shit! So comment, motherfuckers! 
> 
> Thanks guys!


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